Serendipity
by blc
Summary: An epic, magical-realist year in the life of S. and T. Booth-Brennan, pre-Season 4. Angst, Romance, Humor & Smut. More fluff than your dentist would recommend. And, I still promise-- I won't kill Brennan off! Ch. 78 now up.
1. Chapter 1

Serendipity, ch

Serendipity, ch. 1-5.

1.

"Bren, I have that reconstruction for you." I turned around from the exam table, looked at my best friend. "Oh, great, I'll be right there."

"Are you OK?" You don't look so hot."

"I think I'm getting a cold. I've got a headache and everything smells funny." I wasn't surprised. I'd been working too much, even by my standards, since Zack had gone to the hospital, and I hadn't yet had the courage or energy to start looking for a replacement.

"Sounds more like a migraine. Did you take anything?"

"I don't get migraines. And you know I avoid taking medicine."

"Save me the evolution argument. Your forehead's all scrunchy. Tell me you at least ate something."

I was silent. I'd actually had half a piece of toast, but it made me nauseous. "Toast." Just a little lie.

"Not enough. You finish up, I'll get you some crackers and ginger ale. Meet me in my office."

"Diet, please." She snorted. "Like you need it."

"Actually, the impact of sugar on one's teeth is well-documented."

"Bren, finish up." I wasn't in the mood to argue. Ten minutes later, I found the fatal stab wound, marked it for the graduate student of the week to image (one more reason to have a headache), and headed to Ange's office. Every step set my head pounding. Maybe it was time for an analgesic.

"Food first, face second," Ange said, pressing a packet of saltines into my hand as I sat on her sofa. Ugh, did she know how much sodium was in these? Nevertheless, I unwrapped them, took one, chewed, swallowed. The ginger ale helped me wash it down, though it sloshed a bit in my stomach. I chewed, rinsed, repeated until all the crackers were gone.

"I think I'll take that analgesic." Angela raised her eyebrows, but said nothing as she went to her desk and returned with a bottle. I shook out two, and Angela shook out two more. "You need four." I raised my eyebrows. Ow. My forehead even hurt. "Just listen to me, Bren." I accepted the pills, swallowed them dry. Angela grimaced. "At least let me get you another soda." "I'm fine. Face, please?"

We walked to the Angelator, and I marvelled again at the gift it was-- to us, the FBI, the families. "You know, this really is a wonder. You may denigrate your abilities, Angela, but I could never do this." Ange looked slightly surprised. I needed to compliment her more often, I decided.

"Bones!" Booth called from out by the platform. The yell made my head throb, and I involuntarily put my hand to my temple.

"Bren..."

"I'm fine. In Angela's office..." I called.

Booth strode in. He wore his Rangers belt buckle and a pink and orange tie emblazoned with yellow-striped beach umbrellas. On a normal day, the tie would have hurt my eyes. Today, it was like staring at the sun. I hoped his socks were a little more mellow. "A face on the stabbing?"

"Yes. I'm running it through the databased right now, along with the dentals." Booth smiled a version of his charm smile at Angela, saying "You're the bomb, Angela." He turned to me, frowned, and said "You look like death."

"Nice to see you too. Headache." Forestalling the inevitable interrogation, as if I were a five-year old incapable of taking care of myself, I added, "Yes, I ate. Yes, I took an analgesic. Where's the body?"

"Forest Park."

"Messy?"

"Just like you like 'em."

I started out of the room to grab my it. "Bren, are you sure you should go?"

I turned back. "Ange, it's just a headache. Those pills will kick in any moment. I'll be fine."

Booth frowned, saying, "Bones, you do look sick. Maybe you should let our boys do the digging today."

"I'm fine, I just need some fresh air." As I walked away, Angela called out, "Only you would think excavating a body counts as 'fresh air!'"


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the scene. My head was still splitting, and the smell of fresh-cut grass, usually one I enjoyed, today smelled to me like cat urine. I was really looking forward to that body now. But if I put on a mask, Booth would manhandle me back into the car and call in the FBI team, who simply weren't as good as caring for remains as I was.

I followed to the roped-off area, knelt by the half-turned shallow grave. "Trowel?" One of the FBI techs-- Rodgers?-- handed me one. "Thanks, Rodgers," I said, turning back to the body. There was silence behind me. "Um, sure, Dr. Brennan."

Booth chuckled. "Who are you and what have you done with my cranky Bones?"

I turned and looked up at him, rolling my eyes, and then gave him my best Evil Death Glare. Hah-- works every time. Charm Smile, my ass. Turning back, I leaned forward and started to uncover the torso. "Advanced state of decomp, approximately one month," I narrated, as I spaded dirt away from the abdominal cavity, which was teeming with insect life, and the usual smell of organ decay. Suddenly, a wave of nausea overwhelmed me. I pushed myself away from the remains just in time to spew vomit all over the ground. And then kept heaving.

"Bones!" He was kneeling beside me, holding my hair back as I heaved. "Some water, here," he called, "and some paper towels."

Finally, I stopped, panting and sweating. How embarrassing. I'd never reacted at a scene before-- I had an iron stomach, even as I'll admit privately that sometimes, the rotting smells are even a bit much.

"Here, rinse." A bottle of water appeared in front of me. I did as suggested. "Again," he said, patting my back. I spat, now nauseated by the vomit in front of me.

"I'm OK. Towels?"

"Like hell, Bones. You never barf! Let's go. Rodgers can finish."

"I'm almost done." I rinsed again, spat, wiped my mouth. "Ten more minutes and they can move the remains and get soil samples." I threw in what I knew would get him off my back. "You can drive me home as soon as I'm done." I mean, I cared for the man and appreciated his alpha-male need to take care of me, but sometimes? He was a pain.

I swallowed, shook my head-- ooh, bad idea, and turned back to the remains. Leaning over again, I felt bile rise in my throat at the stench. I swallowed, and finished uncovering the limbs, skull, pelvic girdle. "Male, 45-50, African-American, bilateral patellar and tibial fractures, as well as fractures to the posterior skull and posterior pelvis. Possible a vehicular accident." Talking was a mistake; the stench entered my nasal cavity through my mouth, and I heaved again, barely missing the remains.

I lost count of how many heaves-- I was dimly aware of Booth holding my hair and saying something about blood, and samples, but I was just heaving, until I was nothing by wave after wave of nausea. It finally stopped, and Booth pulled me off my hands and knees, into his lap. Wiping my face with a damp towel, he held a bottle of water to my mouth. "Drink." I rinsed, spat to the side. "No, drink, don't spit." He held the bottle to my lips again, and I swallowed. As soon as the water hit my stomach, though, it clenched, and I rolled off of Booth's lap, hitting the ground, and started heaving again before I could get back up to kneel.

"Rodgers, damnit, get me an ambulance, and get someone to sample that blood."

"What blood," I mumbled. The ground was nice. I decided I'd stay here for a while.

"Yours, Bones, yours! For Christ's sake, you've been heaving blood for twenty minutes."

"Just a migraine." He chuffed. "Migraine, my ass." I heard a siren, some bustle, a gurney being unfolded.

"Bones, hey, can you sit up?" He pulled me up a bit. "Yes," I said, pushing up to a full sitting position, and wiping my mouth with my sleeve. He got up, reached down to haul me upwards. I gave him my hand, and the world tilted, the ground rushing toward me.


	3. Chapter 3

3

3.

Booth caught her before she hit the ground and carried her to the gurney. "She had a headache this morning, said she ate and took an analgesic, vomited after uncovering remains, unusual for her, dry heaved and stopped. Ten minutes later, she started heaving blood, stopped, had a sip of water, and started again."

"Pupils are uneven. Did she hit her head recently?"

"Not in the last three days, that I know of."

"Respirations shallow. Start an electolyte and some oxygen."

"Rodgers-- finish up here, call Santana to clear. Take the remains to the Jeffersonian, tell Ms. Montenegro what happened. Do you have those samples?"

"Red cap is first episode, Blue is second, Green is third."

"That's a lot of blood."

"Let's go, are we ready?"


	4. Chapter 4

4.

I woke up slowly. My head was still killing me. I heard beeping, felt a mask over my mouth. The light was bright, even through my eyelids. Raising my hand to my face to remove the mask, I heard a rustle, then, "Bones, don't. Leave it on."

I opened my eyes in the direction of his voice. He was sitting in the chair next to me, looking worried. I raised my eyebrows in inquiry.

"You passed out as you were standing up." I nodded, remembering the uncharacteristic nausea. "They said your oxygen levels were low. You've got an electrolyte drip. You were out almost two hours. They did . . . some blood tests, they're checking the samples Rodgers collected, and they, uh, did an MRI and a CAT scan." I was shocked. It was just a headache.

Booth half-grinned at me, worried expression still in place. "When were you planning on telling me that you'd made me your health care proxy?"

I shrugged, moved again to remove the mask. "Leave it on," he said, standing and leaning over me to hold the mask in place. Up close, I could smell his cologne. So nice, Old Spice, and Booth. And then, it wasn't. He must have seen something in my face, because he pulled the mask off, rolled me to my side, and grabbed a container in one continuous motion. Again, heaving became my whole world. Temperance Brennan, Queen of Heaves. Hah, I'd have to remember that one for later. Up close, I could see bile, dark blood. Not good.

"Nurse?! Some help here! Hey!"

I heard the heart monitor skipping in time with my heaves. His hand was on my back, the other on my forehead, steadying me. Someone came in-- I felt the sting of a needle in my abdomen, but I kept heaving. The room blurred, and faded.


	5. Chapter 5

Serendipity, ch

5.

The next time I woke, it was dark behind my eyelids. I still had the mask on my face, but now I could also feel that they'd inserted a central line. Moving my attention, I grimaced. Foley Catheter. There seemed to be a pulse oximeter on one finger. I heard more beeping, and decided I must be in the ICU. Not good. But at least the sinus rhythm on the heart monitor sounded good. My heart monitor. I blinked, took a deep breath.

"Temperance?" Booth leaned into view. I nodded, since I knew he'd just argue with me if I tried to take the mask off to talk. "You know you're at the hospital?" Nod. "You remember what happened earlier?" Nod. I crossed my hand, tapped my other wrist. "Six hours since you woke up earlier." Six hours? The alarm must have shown in my face.

Booth say down on the bed, facing me. "The MRI came back. There's a tumor impinging on your optic nerve, the side of a lime."

Oh. A tumor. Unwilled, my hand shaped the letter C.

"They don't know. Your white blood cell count is high, but some differential something or other still needs to be reviewed. They said that either way, they'd start you on some drug to shrink it, but that they might need . . . a biopsy to see if it's malignant." I nodded. Tears pricked my eyes. My brain? I lived by my brain. I mean, I'd always figured I'd be done in by guerillas, a terrorist, a serial killer. Not lingering, competence-robbing illness. Without any control, tears started rolling down my cheeks. He brushed each one off as it fell.

"Hey, shh. You don't now for sure yet. Let's just get through the next few days, and get you home before we worry about the rest." I nodded, still crying. "Bones-- want me to call your Dad, and Russ?" I shook my head, no. "Later? Tomorrow?" I nodded. Tomorrow was another day.

"Angela was here earlier, but Jack took her home an hour ago. If ... you don't mind, I could use Cam's help to interpret some of this." I nodded again, closing my eyes. Surprisingly, it didn't bother me. They'd broken up a year or more ago now, and I had nothing but respect for Cam, professionally. Hell, she was more cognizant of fleshly disease than me-- she could point me to the research I'd need to do on possible treatments. Opening my eyes, I saw that Booth's shoulders had uncurled a little. I was glad I'd agreed. Asking him to be my proxy was a lot to ask, but I'd done it knowing that he'd have insisted on being involved any decision that Russ or Angela made anyway. In any event, statistics and our jobs made it most likely I'd be hurt while I was with him. It was just efficient. Right. I'd keep telling myself that. I should have told him-- but it's not exactly the kind of thing you just drop into conversation. "Oh, Booth, I changed my health care proxy from my best friend of ten years and my brother because even though I've only known you for three years, I trust you more than anyone I've ever known?" Yeah, I didn't think so.

"How's your headache?" His hand was on my forehead. I gave him a thumbs-up. It was actually better-- in fact, I felt rather floaty. I looked over at the IVs, and he said, "Morphine. They wanted you out cold for a bit so they could pump you full of anti-emetics." I raised my eyebrows. "Bones, you were vomiting blood. A lot of it. Even if you don't have the sense to be scared, I do."

I actually understood. If I were in his place, I'd have doped him to the gills to save him any pain. He wasn't the addictive type, when it came to alcohol or narcotics. He knew I wasn't, either.

"You should try to go back to sleep." I shook my head. I wasn't sleepy. I was cold, however, and the thought brought on a shiver. "You're cold," he said, getting up and pulling a blanket from the closet. Shaking it out, he boosted me up and wrapped it around my neck and shoulders, easing me back down and wrapping the rest in front of me. "Better?"

I was getting tired of this nodding thing, so I reached for the mask. "Bones. No talking. No writing, either. Just rest, ok? You'll be out of here and back at work soon, I promise."

I stared down at his hand holding mine. I squeezed it, once, and sighed back into the blankets. I was still cold. "Your hands are like ice. Here, give me the other," he said, reaching over and grabbing it himself. Clasping my hands between his, he started rubbing them gently, the friction starting to warm me. My eyes started closing. This was nice. "I'll have Angela bring mittens and flannel pjs tomorrow." I smiled, eyes still closed. "Thanks," I mouthed. "You're welcome."

We sat there for a while-- I lost track of time- him still chafing my hands, when a nurse came in. "She's awake?"

"Yes, she's cold." I opened my eyes, took in the competent and nice-looking nurse. "Hello, Dr. Brennan. I'm Maureen, I'm the chief ICU nurse and I'll be your nurse tonight. How's your headache?" I gave her the thumbs-up. "Any nausea?" Mouthed no. "Any pain anywhere?" No again. "OK, I'm going to take your temperature. It'll be cold." She inserted the thermometer in my ear canal, and it was cold. I shivered. It beeped, and she said "hmm, 97.4. Are you normally 98.6?" I nodded. "Well, it's probably just a side effect of the dehydration. I'll grab you another blanket." I nodded, mouthed thank you. She was back shortly, and shook out a heavier blanket than the one Booth had found in the closet. Tucking it in around me, she turned to Booth as said, "Do you want a cot and some scrubs?"

"Please."

"No problem. Now, I need to check a few more things, so why don't you just step outside." He looked at me, and I nodded. As soon as the door closed, Maureen pulled back the covers, checked the needle stick in my abdomen. "Not too much bruising. I'm going to check your catheter now, OK?" She was done shortly, and switched out the bag. I looked curiously at it, and she moved it nearer for my examination. "Not too dark, considering." I shot a look at the chart hanging at the end of the bed. She seemed to understand. "Dr. Henry Watkins is the neurosurgeon consulting on your case. He'll be in around 8 tomorrow morning." I nodded, somewhat surprised. Dr. Watkins was the chief neurosurgeon at Walter Reed, and tops in his field. Interpreting my look, Maureen said, "Well, your partner was quite insistent. 'Nothing but the best minds for one of our best minds,' he said. Of course, no one was going to argue with him. He's worried about you." I nodded, eyes filling. "Oh, now. We'll straighten it out. You're a strong lady, what with that writing, and your job, and catching all those murderers. You'll be fine."

Normally, I wouldn't be inclined to hear something like that as anything but false comfort, but I believed Maureen. She exuded confidence. "Now, I'll go find a cot and some scrubs for your shadow." She opened the door, patted Booth on the shoulder, and was off. He came in, sat again on the side of the bed, picked up one of my hands, started chafing it idly. "Warmer?" I nodded, squeezed his hand. Maureen bustled in again, handing Booth some scrubs. "Here, you take these and use her shower. There are towels in there." Booth started to protest, but I jerked my head toward the bathroom. "See, even your partner thinks so. Go."

I closed my eyes while she unfolded the cot and made it up. She patted my arm, then, and said, "here's the button for the painkiller. I'm pressing it now. It will take 6 minutes, the clock's over there. Promise to press the call bell?" I nodded, mouthed thank you. "Oh, my dear, it's a pleasure. You may not remember the case, but a few years ago you helped my sister Margaret get her foster children back after another of them was killed by a neighbor." My eyes widened. How could I forget? Maureen grabbed my hand, squeezed it. "You're doing the work of the saints. Now get some sleep."

My eyes closed again. Damned morphine. I head the shower turn off, and the door open not long afterward. I was too tired to open my eyes, so I was surprised when I felt Booth's lips on my forehead, pressing a light kiss there. He must have thought I was asleep. "We'll get through it, Bones. We will," he whispered, then kissed my forehead again. "I love you."

My ironic brain made a note to remind me to tell Booth that a near-death experience needn't be the occasion for expressing his feelings, especially when they were mutual, but the morphine was flooding me, carrying me away.


	6. Chapter 6

6

6.

I woke, or thought I did. I couldn't open my eyes, move my limbs. Something was weighing me down, cold and surrounding and dark. I panicked—I couldn't breathe. Then, someone was shaking my shoulder. "Temperance, wake up." As soon as I heard his voice, I knew it was alright. I could open my eyes, turn and look at him. At some point, Maureen had removed the oxygen mask.

"Bad dream?" "Dark, cold, heavy," I creaked out, my voice raspy from disuse. "Too many drugs."

"Want some light?" "A little." He lit the lamp across the room. It was still dark outside the window. "Water?" I asked. "They left some here the last time they checked on you." He poured me a cup, stuck in a straw, held it to my lips. The water was so sweet. "Slowly, Bones. Today, water. Tomorrow, pudding." His charm smiled twinkled at me in the half light.

"You're too good to me." "Darn tootin'." He smirked, but he looked exhausted, worried, and something else I expected was love. "Sit here, with me." He did—I scooted over a bit, making room.

"Seeley, deathbed confessions are really clichéd, but…" He grabbed my chin, almost fiercely. "Bones, this is not your deathbed." "Stop interrupting me. No, wait. Have you got a pencil?" Puzzled, he got up, checked his suit jacket pockets, brought one back, handed it to me. I turned it point side down. "See this?" "It's a pencil." "No, this, at the end." "It's an eraser."

Taking a breath, I said, "Yes, it is. Since I am stuck in this damned bed, I need you to do something for me." He was totally confused. "I want you to go erase that stupid line." He just looked at me. "I love you, Seeley Booth." He blinked. "Ok, here's where you say something."

He laughed, and tears came to his eyes. "Temperance, of course I love you. But you're right. This is really clichéd."

"Angela will kill me because it didn't happen during the middle of a fight in front of everyone." "We'll stage something later so no one suspects we're hopeless romantics."

"Perish the thought."

He leaned forward, kissed me ever so tenderly on the lips. "Mmm. Not enough steamboats," I mumbled. "Come lie with me." He didn't need a second invitation. Standing and leaning over me, he lifted me, pushing me further to the side, then lifted the covers and climbed in, lying on his side. He placed one arm across my waist, the other along my cheek.

"So what was it? My manly prowess? My magnificent physique?"

"Your socks." He choked. "I saw your silly socks, day in and day out, and realized you knew how to live, how to seize a little happiness, however small, every day. I've been learning, since then. Your turn."

"The way you look at things, look through them, the way you treat each bone like a treasure, give it all your attention, so nothing is overlooked. You want to make sure nothing is forgotten."

We both sighed. I was falling asleep again, despite my best efforts to gaze at his dear face. "Sleep, love, I'll be here." I managed to get out, "you always are," before I drifted off.


	7. Chapter 7

7

7.

We were awoken by a squeal and a sound like jumping from the hallway. Even with the door closed, it was loud.

We blinked at each other. "Busted," he said, his voice rough from sleep. "She usually doesn't get up this early," I said.

"OK, you two, I know you're awake," she said, entering the room. I sighed. Seven in the morning was far too early to deal with an ecstatic Angela.

An hour later, we were saved from further interrogation by Dr. Watkins. Angela and Jack took our keys, and promised to return with changes of clothing for us both. The meeting was as I'd expected. It was a pituitary tumor, the headache and vomiting the impingement of the optic nerve. I knew that the initial drug therapy to shrink a tumor was the same, cancer or not, so we agreed to start therapy the next day. I would have to stay at the hospital the first week, but assuming today went well, they would move me to a regular room. Dr. Watkins agreed to let me review my chart, even allowing me my laptop, as well as access to the hospital network.

"Thank you," I'd said. "An informed patient is a happy patient," he replied, leaving us along again.

"I didn't get a good morning kiss," he said, leaning in and gathering me to him. So sweet, his kisses. "Good morning. That's much better than morphine."

He settled into the bed with me, wrapping me in this arms as we watched inane daytime television between kisses. Before too long, a nurse came in with breakfast, and to change my catheter. I shooed Booth off to the cafeteria, so the nurse could work.

"You think you can try standing and walking, cherie?" she asked. I looked at her, startled. "What, cherie? Not ready yet? You're a strong gal, let's give it a go."

"Sorry. You reminded me of a colleague for a moment. She always calls me cherie. You just caught me off guard."

"Well, unless you're involved in prosecutin' scummy murderers, you wouldn't know my sister."

"Caroline Julian?" She looked shocked, then looked at my chart. "You're that bone doctor she's always going on about. The one with the father who killed that FBI man?"

"Yes."

"Oh, cherie, she was never so happy to lose a case. Now what landed you in here?" I told her, still nonplussed by the fact that twice in two days, I'd met people with a connection to me. I shook my head, and Jeanne, Caroline's sister, just laughed.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're going to be fine. You're a fine woman, and you're doing the work of the angels. You just listen to me, you're going to be alright."

Smiling, I said, "I would never contradict a Julian." She threw back her head and laughed. "That's right!"

We found I could stand, and she removed the undignified catheter. I made my way into the bathroom without help, and managed a shower before getting winded, and needing to sit on the toilet, holding onto the bars. "Jeanne?" I called. She bustled in, and it was like I was five again. I was dry, dressed, my hair brushed, and tucked back in bed before I knew it. And then, she was gone.

"She reminds me of Caroline," said Booth, peeking his head in the door. "I was afraid to get in her way."

"She's her sister." "No way!" "Way. What?! Even I'm not that clueless."

Later, after I'd been down and back for another MRI, Booth disappeared into the shower with more scrubs. I was lying there with my eyes half-closed when I heard a soft tap.

"Dr. Brennan?" I opened my eyes. "Deputy Director Cullen—Come in." He was bearing a large flower arrangement in reds, oranges, and yellows. "The Tech team sent this over." "Oh, they're lovely. Please tell them these are my first flowers."

"I also came to tell Agent Booth that Agent Santana will be working yesterday's case while you're . . . recovering."

"I, I'm sure he'll appreciate that. Thank you, Director." "Sam." "Then it's Temperance. Booth is in the bathroom. Hang on." Turning, I raised my voice. "Seeley? Sam Cullen is here when you're done." He yelled "ok," and I turned back to my visitor. "Would you like to sit?"

We talked of non-work-related things—his wife, their other daughter, the upcoming fall harvest festivals in the area. Booth emerged in fresh scrubs, toweling his hair. "Director Cullen," he began.

"Seeley, call me Sam, for Christ's sake. You're likely to be promoted over my head soon anyway." Booth just blinked. "I was telling Temperance that Santana will work yesterday's case for … the time being."

"Booth—the rest of the team can handle the preliminary work. If they really need help, Sam, Dr. Clark Edison is quite good. I'm sure Dr. Saroyan wouldn't mind if he consulted."

"I'll remember that. Seeley, a moment?" They stepped outside, closing the door behind them, both looking serious, and occasionally glancing in at me. I pretended to be watching TV. Sam Cullen looked shocked at something Booth had said, then looked in at me before resting his hand on Booth's shoulder. He said something else then, and Booth's expression shifted, lightening. Sam looked shocked again, then laughed and clapped Booth on the shoulder, before they walked back into the room. "Temperance, I'll return, if I may?"

I was surprised. I thought he didn't like me—but I smiled and nodded. He left, and Booth settled on the edge of the bed. "He hasn't forgotten how you insisted we help Amy."

"What happened out there?"

"He told me to take the next two weeks off, and to 'tell that stubborn gorgeous partner that you love her.' I told him I already had, and he said Sweets owes him 200.00. I guess Sweets' money was on me getting shot again before anything happened."

"I'm not sure how I feel about being the subject of the FBI betting pool."

"You're just mad that you and your beginner's luck couldn't place your own bet."

"True, very true."


	8. Chapter 8

8

8.

The next few days were as uneventful as a looming cancer diagnosis could be. I moved to a private room. Booth slept in the hospital bed with me every night. Angela and Jack visited every day, and I was glad to see Booth give up some of the reserve he'd always had around everyone on the team but me. Cam came twice, discussing research with me and Dr. Watkins until Booth's eyes glazed over from all the medical jargon.

Booth had Cullen bring him some files that were strictly paperwork; neither of us could watch TV all day, despite Booth's protests that I was the one incapable of vegging out. While he worked on his files, I wrote up some thoughts I had for a new book. It was very companionably, actually, and I enjoyed how we were able to keep each other company without having to talk to one another all the time. When my dad came to visit, I sent Booth home, but not without an argument first.

"Damnit, Bones, I am not leaving!"

"Booth, it's your evening with Parker! I'm fine! Dad will stay until you come back, right, Dad?"

"Fine. But I'm only going because I know Max is the only person besides me who has the sense to shoot first, ask questions later."

"That's right, son." My dad grinned as Booth leaned in to kiss me goodbye.

After Booth left, we played a few games of snap. Dad told me some stories about the reading and science classes he was teaching at the prison, adding "The good thing about being Max Keenan is that all my students are too afraid of me to not do their homework." He brought me up to speed on Russ, Amy, and the girls, since he lived closer than I did, and we watched a little TV. I dozed a bit, and when I woke he was watching me with a serious expression.

"Honey, I, this will sound strange, but…"

"Potential brain cancer is the best thing to ever happen to me." He barked out a laugh.

"Okay, I was going to put it another way, but…"

"Dad, I'm happy, everything else aside. If this is what it took? It's worth it."

He patted my hand. "Just like your mother."


	9. Chapter 9

9

9.

I'd gotten up to speed on all the research and treatment options, thanks to Cam, and had even put together a few chapters for a new book, as well as done some work on the current Kathy & Andy. Of course, I'd see how good they were after I was off all the drugs at the hospital, but I had a good feeling. The tumor-reducing drugs they'd given me made me sleepy, so much so that I'd drifted off several times while Sam Cullen and the team were visiting. Booth said nobody minded.

My room was bright and full of flowers—not just from the team and my family, but another bouquet from the FBI Tech Lab, some mistletoe from Caroline Julian, a plant form my editor, and several bouquets from families Booth and I had helped—the first one had come from Margaret. These, for some reason, shocked me.

"I'd always assumed that when we gave them back their loved ones, they'd want to shut the door on that part of their lives," I'd confided to Booth, after a particularly large arrangement arrived from the Ellers. "And why do so many people seem to know I am in the hospital?"

"World-renowned forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan collapses dramatically at the scene of a crime? It was all over the news before I could stop it, Bones, and I was a little distracted the first two days. I did manage to persuade your publisher to turn down interview requests and issue a statement that you were recovering and wanted your privacy. Although, I was tempted by the inquiry from People, who wanted to know if it was true that I hadn't left your bedside since your shocking collapse. Something about 'faithful and heroic partner Seeley Booth,' I think."

"Well, you are," I said. I was getting sappier by the day, and even I couldn't persuade myself it was the tumor.

Just then, the room phone rang, and Booth answered it. "Dr. Brennan's room. That would be great. She's not eating the hospital food. Yeah, crispy tofu, tom yum soup, summer rolls no shrimp, and mee krab. Thanks, Angela."

"Why is everyone so obsessed with how much I eat?"

"Bones, you're not exactly carrying around a lot of extra padding, and you've lost weight since you've been in here. You need to eat."

"Goodness knows how I'll eat if I need radiation or chemo…" I mused aloud, becoming depressed at the thought of missing more work.

"Hey, no moping yet, you promised."

Dr. Watkins came in, then. "Temperance, Seeley, good, I wanted to speak with both of you." He sat down, holding my chart, and looking unhappy. "Well, I have some good news, and some not-good news."

Booth settled on the bed beside me, and pulled me to him, an arm around my shoulders. "Go ahead."

"Well, first, the MRI showed that the brain mass is shrinking, and responding to the drug therapy. That means that Temperance is unlikely to experience the headache and other acute symptoms she's had, and we can discharge her." That must be the good news, I thought, tensing as I waited to hear the rest.

"As you know, the first MRI was just of the head, and we did the full-body one yesterday. There are five separate hot spots, at the neck, both armpits, and groin nodes."

I inhaled. "I won't need the biopsy of the original mass, then."

"No, we can biopsy the nodes and effect the formal diagnosis in that way."

Booth had tightened his arm around me as Dr. Watkins said "hot spots." "When?" he asked.

"Today, if Temperance is willing."

"Let's get it over with. The sooner we know, the sooner we can decide what to do next. And… I want to go home."

Dr. Watkins nodded, and used the room phone to alert the prep nurse and anaesthesiologist. "We'll do it under general since there are so many involved nodes." He then excused himself.

Booth sat looking down at me, his eyes dark and ineffably sad. "Love," he started. I leaned into him and kissed him. "We'll get through this, we always do."

"Should I call Jack and Angela and tell them not to come tonight?"

"No. I'll be out of recovery by then, and we'll just mope if we're by ourselves. But let's hold off saying anything more until the path results come back."

He said nothing more, just tucked my head under his chin and held me tightly until the prep team came and did their work, the anaesthesiologist swapping out my regular IVs for the general anaesthesia. I remembered him placing a kiss on my forehead as the drugs pulled me under.


	10. Chapter 10

10

10.

When I woke up, I was back in my room, and a little woozy from the drugs.

"Hey, sleepy. How do you feel?"

"Floaty. 'S'nice."

"My Bones, anaesthesia junkie."

I tried to Evil Death Glare him, but he just smirked. "That doesn't work anymore, you know. I'm only mildly afraid, not constantly terrified of you now."

"Damn. I'll have to work on a new look." Booth laughed.

"Bones, I don't know where your sense of black humor has come from, but…"

"It's like one of those horrible Lifetime movies you keep making me watch. Steely damaged-goods female has life threatening event, finds love, and learns how to live. Blech."

"You're way better than Judith Light or Meredith Baxter-Birney, trust me."

"What a relief."

- - -

Jack and Angela arrived around seven, and I managed a few good helpings of the food. I saw Angela hand Booth something when they first came in, but was distracted by a hug from Jack. They stayed for about an hour, until Jeanne, who stopped in after her ICU shift ended, shooed them out, saying "Get your behinds out of here. Dr. Bones needs her rest."

Booth was sitting in his accustomed place beside me on the bed, me leaning against his chest.

"They're making less of a fuss about the … us thing than I thought they would."

"Well, Providence is hard to mock." Before I could ask what he meant, he continued. "When you go home, where is that, precisely?"

"Wherever you are," slipped out, before I could stop myself. "I am such a sap."

"Hey, me too, and ditto. But really—am I moving in with you, you with me, or are we finally running off to a white picket fence in the country?"

"My condo will probably sell faster than yours, just for the morbid celebrity value, and . . . I do like your bathtub, what I've seen of it, I mean." I leered at him. "Does it fit two?"

"Bones! Really? No fight?"

I shook my head. "I've been alone at my place for a long time, and most of my things can go into storage for the time being. Eventually, we'll need a bigger place that fits all our things and so I can have an office, plus a room for Parker and a few guest rooms, but for now… your place is good."

"That was … easier than I thought," he mused. "Well, since I'm on a roll…" He got off the bed, pulled out the bag Angela had brought earlier, and removed a small box. My breath hitched, as I recognized what it surely must be. In that instant, all my opposition to archaic, paternalistic institutions flew out the window, and I wondered what he would say next.

Settling back on the bed, he opened the box, revealing a beautiful bezel-set diamond, flanked by two cerulean blue sapphires, set in a platinum band.

"Yes," I said.

"Woman, let me ask you first, would you?" He sighed, then leaned his forehead against mine, looking down into my eyes.

"Bones, will you do me the honor of being my wife, to help me evolve, and to chastise my alpha-male tendencies as long as we both shall live?"

"Yes," I sighed, as he slipped the ring on my left ring finger. It was a little loose, but I promised myself I would eat more.

"Angela suggested the setting, she said it wouldn't snag under gloves."

"Good. I'm not planning on taking it off again, so don't go changing your mind, now."

He laughed, and pulled me in for an at least eight-steamboats kiss.


	11. Chapter 11

11

11.

Rounds began at 8 a.m., but as it was a Sunday, I wasn't really expecting to hear anything further for a few hours. But the day after my biopsy, Dr. Watkins and who I assumed was the pathologist knocked on my door at 8:05. Booth's expression tightened, his arm around me too, as the two men entered the room.

The pathologist explained what he'd found, and using my laptop, brought up the lab's raw data and the slide captures the lab had made. He explained cancer staging, lymphadenoma, the significance of metasteses in different parts of the body. It was stage 3(a), early enough to treat aggressively, but difficult and not a certain resolution by any scope of the imagination.

"No indication of spreading beyond the lymph nodes?" bit out Booth, his expression turning even grimmer.

"No. The MRI would have shown it." The pathologist took his leave, and Dr. Watkins sat down, looking distressed.

"What's next?"

"With a stage 3, it's often considered better to start chemotherapy right away—it can stop the growth of the primary tumor and any secondary areas and arrest spread through the bloodstream. Surgery can wait, if it's even necessary—your particular tumor tends to respond well to chemotherapy. If the chemotherapy and tumor reducing medication are successful, and there are no ancillary symptoms requiring surgical intervention, you might get away with just drug therapy."

I looked up at Booth a moment. His jaw was clenched so tight I was afraid he'd crack his teeth. I kissed the muscle on his jaw that was twitching violently, then turned back to the doctor.

"When can I start?"

"That's up to you. A week or two? To settle in at home, get…"

"Things in order," I finished.

"I have a good friend, Dr. Delia Thornton, a neurooncologist, who would be very interested in your case, Temperance. I took the liberty of making you an appointment for Wednesday. For now, you're stable, so you can be discharged later today. I'll have the pharmacy make up two weeks' worth of the cocktail you've been taking, if you're comfortable self-administering?"

"That's fine," I replied.

Dr. Watkins paused, then said "Temperance, if it's any comfort, I think you, of any one, have a very good chance. I'll call you later this week, and my office will book for a follow up MRI."

"Thank you. I'll be at Booth's—let me get you the number." Booth pulled one of my cards from the bag sitting on the floor next to the bed, turned it over and wrote something on the back, and handed it to the doctor. Looking down, I saw that at some point I had grabbed Booth's hand, and that my knuckles were white. He hadn't flinched.

I turned a bit in the bed after the doctor left the room, and found myself pulled into his chest, his arms holding me so tightly I almost couldn't breathe. I inhaled his scent, listened to his heart beat forcefully and erratically. I tried rubbing my hands in circles on his back, but his heart continued to pound as if it would leap from his chest. My own breathing was a bit ragged, so I concentrated on trying to take deep breaths, and hoped he'd follow my lead. He did, eventually, and his heart had resumed a nearly normal rhythm when a throat cleared in the doorway.

"The doctors have been by already?" Cam's voice inquired.

"Stage 3(a), lymphadenoma in addition to the primary, no further involvement," I replied, pulling away from his arms.

Her always polite smile disappeared. "How many nodal points?"

"Five. Neck, armpits, groin. No abdominal involvement."

She sat in the chair opposite the side of the bed that Booth was occupying, looked tired. "Not as bad as it could be. Have they recommended someone?"

"Delia Thornton."

"She's a friend, she's who I'd choose."

I told Cam I was going home today, and asked her to call the team for me to tell them I would come in tomorrow.

"Have you thought about a leave?"

I looked up at Booth again. He was listening to the conversation, but I could tell he was thinking a thousand other things at the same time.

"I'd like to take the rest of this week and next, but maybe half-days and we'll see how it goes?"

"Sounds sensible. If you need to work from home, we can always have a courier swing by with anything you can't access remotely online, or that requires an in-person look."

"Thanks, Cam, I appreciate it."

"Don't worry, Dr. Brennan. I know when I'm losing a fight, anyway. I just wish sometimes that you were a less gracious winner."

Oh. Oh, dear. "Cam, it wasn't ever a fight, that I knew of."

"I know. Like I said, if you were a less gracious winner…"

Booth's forehead had furrowed—he wasn't following the turn the conversation had taken, and I didn't want him to. I poked him in the side. "Booth, I'm starving. Can you find out where breakfast is, or better yet, go get me a coffee and some butterscotch pudding?"

Once he'd left, I turned back, sat forward. "Cam, I'm sorry." I didn't know what else to say. "You're an important, integral part of the Squint Squad, and believe it or not, I not only respect you immensely, but like you, too."

"Ditto. Not always, but now, yes. You know, I'm sorry. I'm being bitter about something I'd lost before I even started."

"He really cares about you. He was so worried when you were poisoned."

"I know. But you know, he cares about the whole world. That's why he's so good at his job. When I first started at the Jeffersonian, you know, I told him I was thinking of firing you. My pride was up because you didn't immediately fall into the line I thought needed to be there. When I told him that, he got that look like he gets when he's deciding whether to shoot you or just immobilize you, and told me that the whole Squint Squad would leave if I fired you. So I asked him, 'and what about you, Seeley?' He just gave me that look again, and said, 'I'm with Bones, Cam, all the way. Never doubt it for a second.' I made the mistake of thinking he meant it only professionally."

"I don't know what to say, except again, I'm sorry for any pain I caused you."

"You didn't. I did it myself. Now… he'll be back soon. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"For a few hours. I have some notes and files I need, and I thought I would call Clark Edison about consulting part time?"

"Perfect. And if I need to reach you before then?"

"I have my phone. Or, um, you could call Booth's."

She looked a bit pale, but smiled tightly at me. Reaching over, I grabbed her hand. "Camille, Booth told me once that everything happens eventually. I think your eventually is on the way."

Her smile relaxed a bit, and she met my eye. Clearing her throat, she said, "That's a beautiful ring, Tempereance. The blues match your eyes." Standing, she gave me a wave and said, "see you tomorrow."

I was musing on the shift that had just occurred when Booth returned, puddings in hand.

"You didn't really want pudding."

"No."

"Everything okay?"

"It will be. She really cares about you. It hurt her pride that she didn't hit what she aimed at. But, she's a kind person, underneath."

He sighed. "Oh, Bones, you're…"

"Cancer makes me sentimental. Don't get used to it."

Jeanne came in then with discharge instructions and my prescriptions. "Cherie, you didn't think I was going to let you out of here without saying goodbye, did you?" While I got changed, Booth stepped out to call my Dad, who was supposed to be coming by later.

"Bones, what do you want to do with the flowers?"

"Jeanne—if we take the cards out, can you just distribute them to people who might be light on flowers?"

"It will be my pleasure, cherie."


	12. Chapter 12

12

12.

Despite my best Evil Death Glare, Jeanne insisted I follow hospital protocol and go down in a wheelchair while Booth got the car. "Cherie, don't you give me that look. You know you don't want me to get in trouble now, do you?" I sighed. Clearly, my icy stare was not going to make people do my bidding any longer. I shuddered at the thought that I would have to be nice to people for a change, then laughed at the conversation I was having with myself. Working with Booth had already made me a much less cranky person. The transition to "nice" might not be so hard.

I must have fallen asleep in the car, because I woke up as he was pulling the covers over me in his bed.

"Mmph. Seeley?"

"Go back to sleep. I'm going to clean up a little, order some groceries. You want some water?"

"No, 'm fine."

"I'll come back in a hour or so."

"Love you," I mumbled, and returned to dreams.

I slept, and dreamt of bells. When I woke, I could hear a drier running downstairs, and smelled coffee. When I reached the kitchen, he was at the front door, signing for something. He turned around, dwarfed by a giant bouquet.

"I kept hearing bells," I said, rubbing my face.

"Come to the living room."

There were at least six bouquets on the television and console, and more on the end tables and mantel. "Your admirers seem to have found you."

"Who are they all from?"

He pointed. "The squints, the nurses at the hospital, your publisher, Caroline, Sam Cullen. This one's from Cam," he said, motioning to the one that had just arrived. It was an enormous collection of blue and white irises, the blue not coincidentally matching my ring. "The cards are over there," he said, pointing to the coffee table in front of the couch.

I plucked the card from Cam's arrangement out and opened it. It read, "Temperance. When eventually arrives, you're invited. Camille."

Booth was reading over my shoulder. "I don't know what that means."

"It's private. And that's my line."

- -

I puttered the rest of the afternoon, glad to be out of bed for more than a fifteen minute walk around the floor. I helped fold laundry, unable to suppress a smile when I saw he'd washed the things I'd been wearing when I'd gotten sick with his. When the groceries arrived, including what I thought should be a month's worth of ice cream, I put the refrigerated items away, as he pointed out where the dry goods went.

"You got a lot of food."

"I actually do know how to cook," he said, winking as he put away some pasta and rice. "I'm just never around to go shopping or take the time to cook. But since I have the next two weeks off, I will do my best to fatten you up."

"Just as long as you don't try to make me eat pie."

"Line, love, marriage. Pie's next on the list," he said, coming over to fold me into his arms. The phone rang, then, and he went to answer it. "It's your editor," he said, handing me the cordless headset.

I took the phone back to the bedroom, closing the door. We talked for almost a half hour about the status of the current Kathy & Andy, and I assured her that I was on schedule, if not a bit ahead. I then broached some of the ideas I'd had for a new project while I was in the hospital, and she demanded that I send her some chapters as soon as I'd finished them. I hung up, excited.

When I came back to the kitchen, Booth was on his cell phone with someone. "Look, Bub, Dr. Bones is sick, and she's staying with me for a little bit, so…"

I took the phone from his hand, and spoke into the phone. "Is that Parker? Hello! It's Temperance!"

"Dr. Bones, Daddy said you're sick?"

"A little. Mostly tired. Are you coming over tonight? I know you usually see your Dad on Sundays and sleep over, and we are dying to see you."

"You would?" said the small voice on the other end of the line. Booth looked a bit surprised, too.

"Absolutely. Why don't you bring a movie and we'll watch it?"

"Yay!"

"Is your mom dropping you off?" He put his hand over the receiver, conferred.

"Yes. She said 6?"

"See you soon, Parker," I said, hanging up. I gave Seeley a glare. "You were _not_ going to cancel on your son just because I'm here, were you?"

He looked sheepish. "I figured you were tired, and he is a lot to handle."

"Booth. I love you. I am marrying you. And that means I am marrying Parker, too. I am sure I am going to be feeling pretty lousy in the future, but for now, I am not going to let a little tiredness get in the way of getting to know my stepson better."

"You're amazing."

"I'd have to be, in order to deserve the heroic and faithful Seeley Booth."

- - -

We watched an animated film about a runaway young fish. I will admit it was humorous, and I enjoyed the seagulls at the end. I was never going to hear "Mine?" in quite the same way again. Booth took Parker off for a bath, and after I cleaned up the pizza we'd had for supper, I pulled out my laptop to review what I'd written at the hospital. It wasn't drug-addled at all, and I decided would keep on with it, even though it was a new direction for me. Booth came back in not too long after I heard the commotion in the bathroom come to an end.

"You're not working?"

"No. Writing. Some ideas I had at the hospital."

"Are you ever going to let me read anything before it's published?"

"Maybe. I'll tell you this much. This one definitely has you in it."

He grinned. "Hah! I knew Andy was based on me."

"It's not a Kathy & Andy. I had a new idea when I was in the hospital and you were working on all those files. It's … something different. I'll show it to you before I send it to my editor. I might even let you help me pick a title." His smile got wider, and he sat down beside me on the couch. Closing my computer and setting it aside, I snuggled into him. This was something I could get used to.

"Parker in bed?"

"Mmm-hmm," he said, nuzzling my neck, his hands sliding under my top and up my sides. They moved further, and his thumb brushed across one of the biopsy sites in my armpit." I flinched, and he pulled away.

"Temperance, I'm sorry! I forgot!"

"I did too," I said, kissing him.

The kiss deepened, but coming up for air he said, "We, uh, probably shouldn't,"

"Until Parker leaves," I finished.

"You, uh, need to save your energy," he began.

I cut him short. "Seeley Booth. I am not that fragile. Just stay away from the bruisy bits, okay? I did not wait three years and get cancer before telling you I loved you and agreeing to marriage, of all things, in order for you to get all over-protective about what had better damned well be the most mind-blowing sex I've ever had. But… not tonight, with Parker here. I don't want him catching us before he knows what's going on."

He nodded, and smirked. "Mind-blowing, huh? So you admit you've thought about it? Since when?"

I blushed. "Since that first day at the shooting range when you were in my face, telling me squints belonged in the lab."

"You too? When you told me to 'be a cop,' I just wanted to get out my handcuffs and…"

I laughed. We were even, it seemed. "Me too."

His eyes widened, and he kissed me again, both of us sighing into one anothers' mouths. We sat for a while, just enjoying being together, when my phone rang.

"Angela," I answered, putting her on speakerphone.

"Hon, just calling to say hi. Cam said you're coming in tomorrow?"

"Just for a few hours. She and I need to talk about grad students, I've got to call Clark Edison about consulting and maybe even taking Zack's place," my breath hitched, but I continued, "and I've got to sign off on some files that were already weeks old before all this."

"You are going to take some more time off, right? And," now her voice hitched, "when do you find out anything more?"

"Tomorrow morning," I lied. "Maybe before we come in." I felt horrible not telling her, but right now, Booth was the only person I could deal with knowing.

"So what are you doing tonight with that hot man of yours? Going at it like rabbits, I hope."

Booth laughed. "Bones, does she always talk about me like this? I might have to lodge a sexual harassment complaint."

"You put me on speakerphone?!" She was yelling, but I could tell she was delighted.

"Parker's here tonight," I answered.

"You're too good. Jack and I would just have gagged…"

Booth's eyebrows shot up. "Enough, Ange! Just because I am marrying into your little squinty family doesn't mean I need all the smutty details."

"Alright, alright. See you tomorrow guys. Love you."

"Love you, too, Ange."

Plugging my phone back in, I turned and gave him a leer. "I think I'll take a bath. Care to join me?"

"Tempting, oh so tempting, but I am going to finish some laundry. I have four more loads."

"Four!"

"Parker and I went to your apartment last week to get you some clothes and you clearly hadn't done laundry in years. You're a real slob, Bones," he said, his eyes twinkling at me.

"Well, someone keeps dragging me out in the middle of the night to chase murderers. You go through a lot of sweaty socks that way."


	13. Chapter 13

13

13.

I was sunk into his clawfoot tub, chin deep in what I assumed was Parker's Mr. Bubble, enjoying the hot water surrounding me. Hospital showers just didn't do it. I could hear Seeley humming below me—though I'd never been down there, I knew that his laundry and exercise machines were down there. I sighed into the heat, closing my eyes, when I heard a doorknob turn.

"Bones?" squeaked Parker. "Do you know where my Dad is?"

I opened my eyes. He was wearing Superman pajamas and looked as though he'd had a bad dream.

"He's just doing laundry downstairs," I said, smiling at him. "Bad dream? Want to keep me company?" I sat up, making sure I was still covered in bubbles, and reached behind me to pull out the stool next to the tub. Patting it, I said, "Come have a seat."

Parker came in, closing the door, and sat down, his eyes carrying the same expression as his father's when he was about to ask me a question I wasn't going to be able to sidestep. "What's that bruise under your arm, Dr. Bones?"

Oops. Must have missed a few bubbles. Booth would kill me for flashing his son. I explained that I'd been in the hospital, and that they'd needed to do some tests that included putting a needle in my armpit, in addition to the blood Parker would sometimes give at the doctor's office.

"Why are they testing you? You're home, so you're not sick anymore, right?"

"Well, I am still sick, but I can get treated by going to the doctor's office and taking medicine at his office and at home."

"When will you be better?"

My eyes welled, suddenly. I was just getting to know him, and he was asking me tough questions.

"Soon, I hope. We'll see."

"You have to get better! You said you'd take me to the aquarium! To see Nemo!"

"Oh, I will, don't worry."

With that promise, his attention shifted. "You don't have any toys in the tub."

"No. I was tired, and I didn't know where they were."

Parker smiled and got up, rummaging under the sink until he came back with a plastic bin full of bath toys.

"This is Dr. Duck, and this is Agent Frog. This is Miss Dolphin," he began, tossing each toy into the tub after "introducing" them to me. "Here, you can have these, they're beads, and you can make a necklace, because you're a girl." He dumped in a dozen large plastic beads that seemed to have interlocking pieces, then pulled the stool over to the side of the tub and pushed his sleeves up, leaning in to start putting the beads together. I was a little uncomfortable—the bubbles were starting to disappear.

"Umm, Parker, maybe you should…"

"It's okay, Dr. Bones. You don't have to be embarrassed. Mommy and Daddy say bodies are natural and pretty and that we should like other people's bodies no matter what shape they're in, and that we shouldn't be ashamed of our parts. But you're shaped differently than Mommy," he said, taking in my chest under the rapidly disappearing bubbles. "There," he said, draping the brightly colored necklace over my head. "Now you can be princess of the bathroom."

"And are you the prince?"

He nodded. "Uh huh. Except, I have a crown, not a necklace, because I'm a boy!"

Hmm. Was he getting it at school? Or from his father? "Boys wear necklaces," I stated. "Your dad wears his St. Christopher medal around his neck." I took the beads off, and put them over his head. "Like this."

He smiled. "Just like Daddy!"

"What's just like Daddy," I heard from the doorway. Booth stuck his head in, surprised to see Parker half in my bathtub. He'd changed to sweats from the clothes he'd been wearing earlier.

"Parker was introducing me to Dr. Duck and Agent Frog," I said. Booth smiled, and was across the room in an instant, scooping up Parker and throwing him over one shoulder. "C'mon, Bub, back to bed." Parker waved at me as Booth carried him out. "Goodnight, Bones!"

I stood and pulled the drain from the tub, and started toweling off. Grabbing some of the lotion I'd brought from home, I stepped out onto the mat, and had begun smoothing it on, when the door opened again and two hands closed around my waist. "I'm not quite sure I like it that my son has seen you naked before I have, but at least I got to burst in on you in the bathroom naked, for a change," he said, running a finger up my spine. He took the bottle from me, turning me to face him. "Here, let me help you with that." Squirting some lotion into his hands, he started kissing my before placing his hands on my back, smoothing them over my skin, the motions pressing me into his chest. The cool lotion and his warm hands made me shiver, as he moved his hands lower to stroke my lower back and my rear end. Moving his kisses down my sternum, he knelt and placed more on my belly and sides as his hands moved down the back of my legs. I felt myself getting weak in the knees, and put a hand out to steady myself, contacting his shoulder and not the wall as I'd thought. His tongue drawing circles on my hip, he pulled the lotion from the floor with one hand and turned me, before I heard the bottle squirt again and his cool-hot-cool hands begin working their way back up the front of my legs. He drew a finger along my inner thigh, and I twitched as he sucked at the hollow of my back where he'd so often laid his hand. My eyes were closed, my head dropped back, as he stood and pressed his chest against my back, then pulled me back into his hips with the hands tracing who knows what onto my belly. As he pulled me into him, my knees dipped again at the evidence of his very large, and very firm erection pressing into me.

Oh dear. While I'd certainly peeked when I was yelling at him in this very bathroom after he'd been shot, and had been more than impressed with what I saw, he wasn't, um, standing fully at attention at that point, as he seemed to be now. As he traced one finger down in between my legs, just tracing the folds there, my hips bucked backwards, and I realized just how long he was. I mean, I had a seven inch inseam, but he was rigid all the way along the length of my … oh, I lost my train of thought as he dipped a finger into me, swabbed it across my clitoris, as his other hand started massaging my breasts, cupping me in his hand. Hmm. Large hands, large … oh, those were my nipples he was running his thumbs across. My knees gave up the fight, and I buckled. He laughed and caught me.

"Booth," I gasped.

"I'm not done yet," he said, sitting on the edge of the tub, and pulling me onto his lap. "Arms up," he ordered.

Since I'd apparently turned to jello, I did as he asked. He bent and kissed the bruises left under my arms from the biopsies, then smoothed more lotion around them and along my arms, massaging my wrists and hands a bit before returning to kiss the spot in my clavicle where the central line had been. He then kissed me on the lips, lingering, and picked me up, carrying me into the bedroom and placing me on the bed, the covers already drawn down. He quickly shucked his clothes, turned off the light, set the alarm, and slid into bed, pulling me to him and settling the covers over us.

"Um, wow," I mumbled into his chest. He laughed, kissed me, and tucked my head under his chin.

"Yeah, wow."


	14. Chapter 14

14

14.

Waking in Booth's king-sized bed the next morning was heaven—right until Parker jumped onto the bed, bouncing up and down.

"Out of bed, sleepyheads!"

I sat bolt upright, fumbling for the baseball bat I kept next to my own bed, before I realized who it was. I sat there, dumb with sleep, as Booth grabbled Parker and lifted him up into the air.

"Hey, herd of elephants! Try not to stomp Bones, OK?"

Parker smiled and sat down. "I made you cereal! Come get it!" Then, looking over at me, sitting up and stark naked, the covers fallen to my waist when I'd bolted upright, he said, "Mommy's breasts are smaller than Dr. Bones', and she has pretty skin." I put my head in my hands. "Daddy, you should tell Dr. Bones not to be embarrassed. We're supposed to love our bodies!"

"Parks, yeah, but, um, Dr. Bones grew up in a different family, okay? Go pour us some juice, will ya?"

Parker nodded, sat up, bounced one more time on the bed, and jumped off, running down the hall.

"I'm calling him Tigger from now on," I grumbled. "But at least my breasts are bigger than Rebecca's."

"Heart, too," he replied, pulling on some sweatpants lying on the floor. He swatted me on the rump as I rummaged in the drawers for some clothes, and ambled down the hall.

After we finished our bowls of way-too-sweet Captain Crunch cereal—which featured a cartoon pirate whose demeanor was far too jolly compared to what was known about pirates' dispositions in the days when they regularly sailed the seas—we got ready and dropped Parker at school. Parking at the Jeffersonian, we headed inside with the doughnuts and coffee we'd bought, and dropped some at the front security desk, eliciting some surprised smiles. I filed away their reactions and decided I'd bring in bagels when I came back to work.

It was still early when we reached the lab with the rest of the treats, and everyone was up in the lounge, still working on their first morning cups of coffee. "Dr. B!" called out Hodgins, as we made our way upstairs. Angela, Cam, Jack, and Sweets were sitting around the table.

Sweets looked a bit uncomfortable, but said, "Dr. Brennan, I heard you were coming in today, and…" I smiled at him.

"I'm glad you're here." Booth finished laying out the doughnuts in the middle of the table, and stood behind me as I sat in the empty chair at the head of the table, putting his hand on my shoulder.

Taking a breath, I started. "Okay, lots of things to discuss. First, as you could tell, we're, um, getting married." Angela squealed all over again. "Probably soon." I paused, then added, "Very soon." Their faces fell as a one, except Cam, who already had known the probable diagnosis. "The mass they found is actually cancer, and I have to start chemotherapy soon, because it has spread to some of my lymph nodes." I inhaled again, Booth's hand squeezing my shoulder. "So, since I am too vain to get married without my hair or some other disfiguring side effect, I hope none of you have anything planned for the end of the month." Their eyes were watering to a one, and Angela had tears streaming down her face.

Jack, eyes moist, cleared his throat. "They can always reschedule my Nobel acceptance speech." It worked—we all laughed, and the air cleared a bit. Cam and I then took turns filling them in on my planned schedule, the possibility of Clark Edison coming on board, what was happening with grad students.

"What about your teaching schedule?" asked Sweets.

"It's a one day a week seminar, so I'm going to try to teach as long as I can. There aren't exactly many mass grave specialists kicking around D.C."

We talked a few more minutes, then everyone except Booth and Angela left. Booth planted a kiss on my forehead, asking "Back in three hours?" I nodded, then turned back to Angela. Tugging her hand, we went over to the sofa and sat down. She threw her arms around me, sobbing, and I tried to soothe her as I cried a bit.

"Bren. I'm so happy and yet so heartbroken."

"I'm happy. And heart-whole. No matter how long, no matter how what. But Booth keeps telling me I'll make it, and he's very cranky when I don't do what he tells me."

She smiled, and squeezed my hands. "At least denial is just another river in Egypt."

Coming downstairs, I went to my office and made some calls. Clark Edison accepted my consultant proposal immediately, and even broached the idea of a full-time position once he'd wrapped up some other projects. I then called the faculty dean at the University; he agreed that for the time being, I should continue teaching the seminar. I then turned to some of the reports that had been sitting on my desk, and signed off on the ones from Limbo. I put some others in a bag, figuring I could courier them back if necessary. Sorting through my computer, I answered some emails, changed the response to an out of office message, and emailed myself some of the notes and chapter fragments I'd written at work for the current Kathy & Andy.

I was interrupted most of the morning, as the gossip made its way through the building and people stopped by the awkwardly wish me well and back to work soon. Booth appeared in my office five minutes before my three hours was up. "Bones, let's go."

Shutting down my computer, I motioned to the bag on the floor. "That needs to go in the car."

"Bones! That's work!"

"Those are ours, and there are only four of them. We can finish them in a few hours. I just need to stop in to see Cam on the way out." He followed me to Cam's office and waited as I told her about Clark. We agreed she would solicit some graduate student resumes, and email them to me.

"Call me after you see Delia?"

"Will do."

- - -

Getting back into the car, which he'd parked a ways off from the entrance, winded me a bit. Booth, noticing, slipped my arm through his and slowed his pace a bit, his face set. Once we were on our way again, I asked him what he'd done in the intervening time.

"Went over to the Hoover, had a department meeting, signed some paperwork, usual catch-up stuff. I also got lots of ragging from the other agents about our getting together, finally. They don't know about the ... cancer yet, they just think you had a bad migraine."

"Will you tell them?"

"I'll have to. I won't be able to explain why I may be out so much, otherwise. I just don't like everyone knowing our business." He sighed, his eyes still on the road.

"It's alright. And I don't want you to get behind at work, lose time on a career track..."

"Bones," he interrupted me, "first, thanks to you and the Squint Squad, I have closed more cases in the last six months than anyone else in the building _combined_. Second, I could give a damn about my career track right now." His voice cracked; he was still resolutely not looking at me. I reached over, laid my hand on his arm in what had become a familiar gesture during our partnership. "Hey, you have to follow your own orders and not get mopey, yet. We can swoon and tear our hair out after we meet with Dr. Thornton. Right now, though, we have a wedding to plan."

"Where do you want to get married? The gardens at the Jeffersonian? The Natural History Museum? Somewhere equally squinty that I haven't thought of?"

Looking at my lap, I said, "I thought we'd get married in your church, if we can." He looked over, surprised, shocked even.

"But Bones, you don't believe in God, why would you be willing to get married in a church?" I squeezed his arm again, leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"Let's just say that things I used to be adamant about don't seem as important any longer as being as happy as possible in the time we have. And, it will make you happy, which I want. Very much."

"Well, it will make my parents happy, that's for sure." I smiled. I'd still never met his family, although I assumed that they at least knew I was his partner, and that I'd dedicated my last two books to him.

"I'd like to meet them before the wedding, I think." Booth shot me a glance. "Well, yeah, here's the thing, Bones. When you were in the hospital, like I said, the story was all over the news, and my mother called me that first night to see what was going on. I, uh, had talked about you before, and so she was worried. I told her what was going on and she told me in no uncertain terms that if I didn't tell you how I felt and propose to you, that she'd disown me. She's the only person I'm more afraid of than you."

I laughed-- if he was afraid of her, I thought, then I would probably like her very much. "Well, I'm glad that part of it is out of the way. How do you think they will react to my felonious family?" He snorted.

"They think it's all very romantic, and Marvin Beckett was actually a hero of theirs, so they are actually looking forward to meeting your Dad."

"You Booths have some twisted values," I said. "I'm glad."

- - -

We spent a few hours at my apartment, putting several weeks' worth of clothes into bags, and collecting some of my music and personal items. I collected Jasper and Brainy from the bedside, picked out a few of my favorite jewelry pieces for wearing if we went out, and gathered up some more notes I'd put together for the current Kathy & Andy. I changed the message on my machine, directing them to call the Jeffersonian with any inquiries, and then filled out the mail forwarding card we'd picked up along the way. Stopping off at my elderly superintendent's office while Booth loaded the car, I let him know where I could be reached. He'd heard I'd been sick on the news, and said he was glad to see me on my feet, and was I travelling again so soon?

I'd been mulling over how open to be about what I would be going through, and had decided that there was no use in being closed off about it. After all, it hadn't done me much good, the protecting my privacy thing. So I told him about the cancer, and how I'd be staying with Booth, and how we were getting married. He looked a little shocked, said he was sorry about the cancer, but reflected that modern medicine did miracles, and that he was glad that my 'late night visitor' had finally worked the courage up. Booth had appeared in the doorway, embarrassed, rubbing his neck, and I made him blush further as I said, "Actually, I made the first move." He wheezed with laughter, and congratulated us.

After I took my afternoon injection, placing the sharp in the small hazmat box they had given me at the hospital, we spent time finding room for my things at his place, setting up one of the armchairs in his living room as a mini-office for me, and otherwise unpacking. Around 6:30, the phone rang and Jack and Angela asked if they could bring over some dinner. They arrived shortly afterward, bearing pizza, tiramisu, and a bottle of wine, and we sprawled on the sofas with the food on the coffee table, laughing and trading stories. "I'm glad you called," I said. "We haven't socialized outside the lab much," I said aloud, thinking internally, _since you and Jack got together_. But she was my friend, and though I'd been lonely, I was happy for her.

"Bren, sweetie, I realized I'd been neglecting you, and anyway, neither Jack nor I have any couple friends besides you two who are even sappier than us. You're the only ones who will put up with us for more than an hour."

Booth laughed, adding "that's all well and good, but you'd still better keep the sordid details to yourself. I'm a good Catholic boy."

Ange leered, said "I bet you're a good _something_," and leaned back into Jack, stroking his leg.

"Booth, man, if I didn't have sex with her at least twice a day, I'd be jealous."

"Again with the too much information! Don't make me spoil a nice night by shooting you." We all laughed, and finished off the tiramisu and the wine. After some more talking, and making sure they were sober enough to drive, Jack and Angela helped us clean up and left.

"That was nice," I said, rinsing out the wine glasses in the kitchen.

"Your friends love you," he said, putting the leftovers in the fridge.

"They're your friends, and they love you, too," I said, walking over to wrap my arms around him.

"Maybe. Though I don't quite like the way Jack looks at me sometimes. He's a randy bastard..." he joked, turning to kiss me.

The kiss deepened, and soon we were fumbling with another like teenagers. Laughing, I broke the kiss and said "you'd think we'd never done this before."

He smiled so sweetly, and in a low voice said, "I might as well not have." Tears sprang to my eyes, and I realized it was true. I was more nervous with him than I'd ever been, even my first time, because there was so much to lose.

I brought my hand up to his cheek, and saw it was shaking. "I love you," I said, reaching up to kiss him again. While my hands were occupied with running themselves through his hair, he was busy stroking my sides, my back, my belly. Suddenly he grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me up into his arms.

"Booth!" I cried, delighted, but a little startled.

"Parker's not here," he murmured, striding down the hall to his bedroom. He dropped me, lightly, on the bed, and pulled off his shirt. Kneeling, I removed my own, loosing my bra as well. "Let me," he said. Pushing me backward onto the bed, he slid the skirt I'd been wearing off, then groaned. "Thigh high stockings, Bones?"

"I don't like pantyhose," I said, crossing my legs. "But sometimes you want to look nice."

"You look nice," he said, his eyes darkening as he knelt in front of me. "But you'll never be able to wear them again, now that I know what you're wearing underneath those skirts. Nope, only granny panties and dark tights for you from now on. Can't have anyone else catching a glimpse of these," he pulled one of my legs up onto his shoulder, and nuzzled my inner thigh, "or I will have to shoot them." He continued nuzzling, switching to the opposite leg.

"I know how you hate paperwork," I sighed, not completely in control of my voice. He didn't respond, verbally, just started unrolling my stockings, following them with slow, firm, kisses and bites, as he worked his way down each leg. I realized I was doomed. If I was this aquiver and I still had my underwear on... I'd better do something to even things out a little. I rose up, started for his belt buckle. Chuckling, he put one arm out and pushed me back into the bed, holding me down while he undid his pants and stepped out of them and his wait, chili pepper print boxer shorts?

"Stay put," he ordered, holding me to the bed as he kicked free of the rest of the clothes, and balanced, one leg at a time, to pull off his chili pepper socks.

"Chili peppers?" I asked.

"Yeah, because I'm hot. Hot for you!" Grinning, he climbed onto the bed, looming over me, face to face. He kissed me, his tongue darting in and out of my mouth in a way that made me hope he'd echo below what he was doing above. I kissed him back, running my hands along his shoulders and back, enjoying the feel of his firm muscles.

"So... well... structured," I panted, between kisses. I started to reach down with my hand, when he swatted it away.

"No. Me first. I'm selfish that way. And you know I always do what I want anyway." Murmuring in my ear, his tongue traced the shape of my earlobe. I shuddered. He made his way down my neck to my clavicle, kissing and nibbling along its length. "Clavicle," he murmured, working his way over to the middle of my chest. He bit and licked his way between my breasts, whispering, "sternum" between strokes of his tongue. My God. There were 206 bones in the body. If he named every one of them the way he was doing right now, I was never going to walk straight again. He turned his attention to my breasts, sucking one nipple and teasing me with his teeth as he kneaded the other one, pausing to look up with a grin and say, "pectoralis major." I quivered, as a throb began to pulse in my center, moving to fill me. "And you thought I wasn't paying attention," he said.

Licking my lips, I managed to get out, "clearly, I was wrong," just as he nipped and licked his way down to "floating rib," swirled and sucked at my "iliac crest," and then descended down my leg, naming the "adductor muscles" of my inner thigh, the "patella," and placing a kiss or a bite at each place he named. Massaging the sole of my foot, he then proceeded to suck every damned "phalange" on both of my feet. I was shuddering all over now, thrashing on the bed, reduced to sighs and whimpers and the occasional, pleading, "Seeley," as heat and wetness and an ache stronger than I'd ever felt before built in me. I was half orgasming with just his mouth on my skin.

As he made his way up my other leg, his hand kneaded, tickled, stroked my other thigh, gradually teasing along the edge of my panties and then rubbing the lace with firm friction across my mound and between my lips, slowly but deeply. "You're killing me," I moaned. He moved his other hand to the other side of my panty line, teasing, stroking, until I was groaning, bucking my hips, and grasping at his hair, as he knelt between my legs. I heard a ripping sound, and then my underwear was gone. "Booth," I gasped.

"I have an underwear investment fund," he whispered, his breath hot against my folds, "I'll buy you a replacement for every pair I tear off of you." The thought of a repeat performance nearly drove me over the edge, and the heat between my legs, the painful-sweet tension there, only increased. I had never wanted, no, needed, this much before. And then his lips were on me, and I lost all thought. He tasted me, licking me like an ice cream cone, occasionally digging his tongue in to my center. I didn't want him to ever stop, and at the same time I needed him inside me, but I couldn't do anything but make this whining sound I'd never heard myself make before. He increased his pace, nibbling at my clitoris as his tongue continued to probe and tease me.

I shattered, bursting into uncountable points of light like a firework, fire rolling through my body in waves, my limbs tingling and numb as all sensation coiled at my core, where he was still kissing, lapping, nipping. Before I could even notice that he had stopped, he had sheathed himself in me, kneeling on the bed and pulling my legs up to hold them alongside his hips. The shock of him entering me, filling me, stretching me physically the way he'd made my soul grow, made my eyes snap open. "Ah!" was all I could get out.

He grinned at me, wolfishly. "I believe you ordered something mind-blowing, correct?" I could only cry out again as he withdrew and entered me again, sheathing himself fully. He lowered himself toward me, slipping an arm under me as he pushed my legs up and over his shoulders. I was boneless, molded by his hands. He entered and withdrew, slowly, so slowly, and I felt myself clench around him, my legs quivering with the effort, mindless sighs falling from my lips. After what seemed like hours, he started to increase the pace, letting my legs fall to the bed and lowering himself further, his chest inches from mine, my breasts brushing against his chest. My nipples rubbed against him, and the friction was almost unbearable. He seemed to know, and bent to suck one, then the other, tugging so hard I orgasmed again, falling off the world. He kept moving within me, slowing, as I cried out his name, slipping his other arm beneath me as I wrapped my arms around him, holding on for dear life. Just as I could breathe again, though, he started to speed the pace, moving his hand to my neck to bring his mouth next to my ear. "Everything," he panted, "mine," he gasped, as I started clenching around him, "forever," he groaned, as he reached between us and flicked me, and I screamed, losing control yet again. He lost his own control, then, pumping into me and crying out "Temperance, Bones!" as I sobbed, "I love you, I love you, I love you," over and over.

I was shuddering, hyperventilating with the overwhelming sensations coursing through me. I had never felt so loved, and it was too much to happen all at once, knowing there might be all too short a time left to have finally found this. Bending down, still inside me, he smoothed my sweaty hair away from my face. "Shh, baby, breathe," he whispered, running his hand down my stomach and rubbing it up and down as I tried to calm my breathing. "Shh." He kissed my forehead, my nose, my chin, clasping me to him as I cried, letting go of a lifetime's worth of loneliness all at once. He kissed my tears, rubbed circles on my back, kept murmuring "I love you," as I finally managed to catch my breath, and allowed his warmth to seep into me. "You're never alone, I'm here, I love you, you're mine, baby," he whispered in my ear as he continued to rub my back.

Taking a deep breath, my eyes still shut against the overwhelming love I knew I would see in his eyes, my voice cracking, I managed to get out, "Too much... waited too long, so much." Tears continued to leak out of my eyes, and he brushed each one away, smoothing my hair again and urging me to breathe some more.

"Shh, Temperance, breathe, it's alright." Letting his weight down entirely, he pulled me flush against him, legs and chest, one arm under my neck and head, the other tracing long, firm strokes down my side. Finally warm, I drew a shuddering breath and opened my eyes. "Love, I'll always be with you. You know that, don't you?" His eyes were shining, and I realized I'd seen that look on his face before, but never fully recognized what it really meant. I nodded, still speechless.

He leaned in again, placing kisses all over my face, as I just clung to him, limp, unable to move. Smoothing a hand through my hair, he held me to him with his hand at the small of my back, as he gently kissed my neck, my clavicles, my upper chest. My breathing, which had just begun to resemble something normal again, hitched in me as I felt him growing inside me again. I moaned, and he swelled again, almost filling me though it had only been minutes since he'd come, pumping what felt like gallons of his life into me. "Seeley, I can't..." I began, as he rolled me onto my side and withdrew from me. But even as I was protesting that I couldn't go on, I cried out when he left me. He briefly hovered over me, then was behind me, one arm sliding beneath me and clasping me to him at my waist. As he lowered his head to kiss and suck at my shoulder, he lifted my top leg and slipped into me from behind, using his hand to pull my bottom leg slightly under me, my hips tilted slightly toward the bed. He bit my shoulder then, and I cried out as he sheathed himself within me again, pulling me against him harder than I'd expected. With him behind me, holding me so closely I thought I would melt into his chest, I felt myself start to coil again, heat pooling in the center of me with a fire I was beginning to think I would never be able to put out. As he continued to draw us together, using his hand on my hip to pull me back to him each time he withdrew, he licked up the side of my neck, nipped my earlobe, and growled, "Forever, Temperance, forever," moving us together until I lost all sense of who I was anymore.

"Forever," I managed to whisper, my voice gone, and he moved the hand at my waist lower, to stroke and knead my clitoris as he continued to rock me onto him from behind. I cried out as I came again, even harder than before, and heard him cry out, wordlessly, as I slipped away.

- - -

I woke slowly, awareness creeping into me. Usually, I woke easily, my thoughts and awareness coming back in a flood, and I could rise from bed and start my day right away. Today was different. My limbs were languid, non responsive. My lips were full, tingling, and my head felt heavy. I could barely open my eyes, but when I did, I saw that it was still dark outside. I felt warmth at my back, and gradually became aware of Booth's arm beneath me, his other arm and a leg draped over me, his head in the crook of my neck.. His breathing was deep and even, moist and hot against my neck, and his body's warmth was like an oven, warming me from head to toe. Flashes of the night before flickered on my eyelids.

No one had ever made love to me before, I realized. He'd been right. By the time he was done, I didn't know where he ended and I began, and I didn't want to know. I felt complete, in a way I didn't know was possible. As I lay there, I realized that even if I died tomorrow, my whole life had been worth it, for just last night. I didn't know what I'd done to deserve someone like him, but maybe it was his God, and maybe He was making it up to me for all that had gone before. Who knew? But I knew, at last, that I was home, that I was safe, that I was awash in more love than I had ever imagined deserving.

- - -

I must have fallen back asleep. When next I woke, I felt whole, refreshed. I also felt his mouth pressing wet kisses on my lower back, where his hand so often came home to roost. Hearing my breathing change, he sucked at the base of my spine, whispering "sacrum, L4, L2," as he mapped his way up my back with his mouth. "I know you're awake," he whispered, his breath hot on my skin, as he proceeded to suck the length of an "intercostal muscle."

"Booth," I sighed, "I don't know if I can…" and then his hand came around to palm my breast, rubbing my nipple with his thumb. I lost my protest in a deep moan. "Scapula," he continued, tracing one of my shoulder blades in nipping bits, then pushing me from the side I'd been laying on to my stomach. One hand traced down my spine, reaching for my heat from behind, and slipping into me to test me. I was already wet. Dipping into me with his fingers, he continued his exploration of my back, circling my "rotator cuff" with his tongue, kissing my "trapezius," leaving a hickey on my "elbow," before returning again for nip each "cervical vertebrae."

"Seeley" fell from my throat as a moan, as his thumb stroked my aching, burning clitoris, still tender from his attentions the night before. With only the third firm pass of his thumb, I screamed, tightening around the fingers inside me. His hand withdrew from me, and I found myself pulled to my knees, his hands grasping my hips, as he entered me from behind.

"God, Bones," he groaned as he entered me, one arm bracing us on the bed, the other wrapped around my waist, withdrawing and pushing himself even deeper into me. "No, oh God, Seeley, yes," I babbled, as he continued to fill me over and over again, his measured pace never slacking even as his breathing quickened. Soon, I was crying out wordlessly with each withdrawal and return of his body from mine, tears streaming down my face as continuous shudders began to wrack me. The sweat between us suctioned us closer together, as he levered us closer to the bed, his chest sealing against my back.

"I love you," I whimpered, and he responded by speeding his thrusts, his own breath coming in harsh gasps, calling "Bones" as he filled me again and again. I screamed as another orgasm ripped through me, so forceful that it was painful, exquisite, every superlative in every dictionary ever written. As another spasm rocked me, "Ah, Seeley! Mine!" he finally let go inside me, pulsing and rippling with a rush of what felt like lava.

He rolled us to our sides, panting, and withdrew from me. Rolling onto his back, he pulled me to his side, arranging my head on his chest, and pulling my useless arm up to place my hand on his chest. His heart beat wildly under my hand, and he turned his head to pull my face towards him, kissing me so tenderly, so sweetly, that I could only gaze in wonder. I moved my hand slightly, and pressed it to my own heart.

"Yours," I croaked, my voice hoarse.

Pulling my hand back to place it over his own, he replied. "Yours."


	15. Chapter 15

15

15.

When I woke again, sunlight was streaming in the windows, and I was alone in the bed.

I took in the ceiling, then the deep blue sky and picturebook clouds puffing outside the window. Rolling to my side, I was shocked to see that it was nearly ten o'clock. We'd actually gone to bed fairly early, since Jack and Angela had work this morning. Which led my thoughts to what had happened after they'd left. A flush filled me, and the tension between my legs started to grow. Good lord—if I had known what Booth would be like in bed beforehand, I don't think I'd have ever had the courage to say anything. Just thinking about it was making my breathing uneven—if he never touched me again, I could probably come a thousand more times on the memories alone.

My thoughts were interrupted by a clanking outside the door. The knob turned, and Booth, clad only in Mickey Mouse boxers, entered with a breakfast tray. The smell of coffee filled the room, and I inhaled deeply. As he saw I was awake, he shot me a huge grin, and said, "Hey, you."

Suddenly shy, I flushed. "Hi." Great, Temperance, I thought. You have the most amazing sex of your life and you're acting like a sixth grader.

He set the tray down on the other side of the bed, then climbed in behind me, pulling me in between his legs, my back resting against his chest. He hugged me to him, said in my ear, "Sleep well?"

"Well, I was woken up a few times, but when I finally got to sleep, yes, I did. Very well."

He chuckled and kissed my neck in response.

"It's a good thing the government doesn't know about your deadly lovemaking skills. I'd never see you again."

"Not going to happen. You're stuck with me. Here," he said, pulling the tray over. "Coffee."

I took a grateful sip. "I might need an IV line of this later."

Booth laughed again, the muscles of his abdomen rippling against my back. "Eat your breakfast, Temperance." I sat up and crossed my legs, leaning forward to pick up a bowl of oatmeal that looked to have blueberries, cream, and maple syrup stirred in.

"Mmmph! So creamy!" I mumbled around the delicious mouthful.

"Booth family secret recipe. Not to be shared with anyone but family."

"Good thing I'm marrying you then."

"Good thing," he laughed, then picked up his own bowl. Finishing my own bowl, I looked over at him, drawing a serious expression onto my face.

"I need to call the Jeffersonian this morning."

"Bones! You were just there!"

"Booth, I know, but I need them to send a team over here to test for anomalies. See, last night, in this very house, several laws of physics were broken." I shot him a sly grin. "Several times, in fact."

His eyes darkened with lust and I felt my core respond. Get ahold of yourself, Temperance. At least take a shower first. He smirked. "Damn right. But don't call them until you have a statistically significant sample to present."

I burst out laughing. "And I thought all those times you zoned out at the lab you were thinking about sports."

"I was trying to figure out how to use all that squint speak to get you into bed," he said, his eyes glinting as he pulled me to him for a kiss. Ooh. My knees went weak and I was sitting down. Breaking it off, though, he said "I've had my shower. Want one? Or a bath?"

"A bath would be nice," I mused. He was out of the bed and had pulled me up into his arms before I knew it.

"Good. I already made you one." Pushing the bathroom door open with his elbow, I saw that he had, indeed, drawn me a steaming bath, filled with something fragrant and opaque white. There was a vase of daisies on the counter surrounding the sink. Putting me on my feet, he swatted my behind, then said, "In you go. You're a very dirty girl today, Temperance."

I looked at him and licked my lips before replying. "Like I said, someone kept waking me up." I turned my back on him and got into the tub.

The water was the perfect temperature, and I submerged myself totally, massaging my scalp and running my hands through my hair. Coming up for air, I reflected that a month ago, I would never have thought I'd be where I now was. I rested my head against the back of the tub, and stretched out my legs, marveling again at how big the tub was. It was easily six and a half feet long, and perhaps three and a half feet wide. Closing my eyes, I let myself float.

My reverie was interrupted by a ripple. Opening my eyes, I saw Booth, naked, and fully erect, stepping into the tub. "Need someone to wash your back?"

"Mmm. Maybe. Where did you get this tub? It's amazing!"

He stepped to the side and slid in behind me. "Nice, huh? It came with the place. The agent said the original owned commissioned it." He reached over the side of the tub to the freestanding chest of drawers, and pulled out a washcloth. Dipping it in the water, he wrung it out and started rubbing it across my shoulders. "This bath stuff is nice. What is it?"

"Parker had a bad case of poison ivy, and the doctor said to use this milk bath stuff that costs an arm and a leg. So after I used up the first batch, I made some more—it's milk powder, honey, apricot oil, almond oil. It smells nice."

I sighed. "You're too nice to me."

"Never good enough," he said, kissing my shoulder as he ran the washcloth over my upper back, down my arms, up my sides, and patting me gently where I was still bruised. After doing my lower back, he reached around me, pulling one leg up so that my foot rested on the edge of the tub. He ran the washcloth up my leg to my hip, making slow circles, then repeated the motion with my other leg. I was relaxed completely against his chest, enjoying the feel of his muscles bunching under and around me as I let him spoil me. He dipped the washcloth under the water again, and began to rub my breasts, causing the tension to build between my legs again. I sighed a little, and he moved the cloth to between my legs, rubbing my folds and my clitoris until I moaned, amazed at how insatiable he was. He was increasing the friction between my legs as one hand came around to fondle my breasts, and my breathing became labored. He stopped then, and grabbing my waist, pushed me up and turned me over in the water, bringing me down to straddle him, his erection directly beneath me, taunting my core with its emptiness. Holding my waist, he pushed a hand between us and entered me with his fingers, the heel of his hand pressing down on the top of my mound, covering my clitoris with his heat. His fingers were twisting and curling within me, as he rubbed his hand back and forth across my mound, and I cried out as a contraction suddenly filled me, falling forward onto his shoulder. Lifting me, he moved the hand that had filled me to guide me onto him, then pulled me down as his knees came up behind me. I gasped as I felt him within me.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, starting to thrust upwards into me as his hands held me in place. I could only whimper, as sensation filled me and the water sloshed against my back and belly. He moved us slowly together, suckling at my breasts, until I called out his name, losing track of the number of times I clenched around him. He pulled his knees up further, tilting me toward him until I was sealed against his chest, and grasped my waist more firmly as he began to thrust into me more forcefully.

"Ah, Jesus, God, Seeley!" I cried, as the feeling of him pulsing into me, "Temperance!" caused my womb to contract again. I was boneless against him, as he panted in my ear and the water stopped sloshing.

"Your floor," I mumbled, my heart hammering in my chest.

"There's a drain," he said, his arm sliding around my back to hold onto me as he leaned forward to run more hot water into the tub. We laid there, and I was content to listen to his heart beat, breathing in his own scent under the sweet notes of the bath salts. He was tracing idle patterns on my back, and placing kisses on whatever parts he could reach. My eyes fluttered open in disbelief then, as I felt him grow within me again, and he pulled my head up for a searing kiss, his mouth and tongue claiming mine.

My cries echoed off the tile walls when he started to move again.

- - -

I woke later, in bed. I couldn't believe I'd passed out again. I heard the phone ringing, and then Booth's voice, answering. "Booth. Hi, Angela. No, she's sleeping, taking a nap. No, she's fine, just a little . . . tired." His voice deepened as he said the last part, a smile in his voice. "I might have," he said, chuckling. "I'll have her call you when she gets up."

I could hear the phone go back into the receiver, heard him humming as he clattered something into the sink. The doorbell rang, and I heard him say "Again? Hold on a second..." There was a pause and then he resumed talking, saying "I don't know where I am going to put all these. Here, take this, looks like you're going to be stopping here a lot." The door closed, and I heard the sounds of hard objects being put down on counters.

Deciding it was time to get out of bed, I got up, snagged one of his t-shirts and a pair of boxers from his drawers, and made my way down to the kitchen. Walking in, I was astonished-- at least a dozen more floral arrangements had arrived-- sunflowers, gerber daisies, roses, hydrangeas. "Well," I managed. "We could always start a floral resale business if this crime-fighting thing doesn't work out. Who sent these?"

"Charlie, Rodgers, the Dean of the Faculty, your seminar, the Middle East Department. Your dad, Russ and Amy, Dr. Goodman..."

"But, he's in Chile at the top of a mountain!"

"The waitresses at the diner, Sully, not so sure I like that one, Sam Reilly, Sweets, Sam Cullen again, not so sure I like that one either, it was easier when he didn't like you, and... Zack," he said, pointing to an arrangement that contained bleeding hearts.

I swallowed-- the flowers were appropriate, in so many ways. "How?"

"I called the hospital, to let him know. I figured you'd want him to know." He trailed off.

"Yes, I would. I missed my visit with him last week."

"I know. That's why I called. Maybe later this week?" I nodded, started plucking the cards from the arrangements. "We should send something to the nurses in the ICU," I mused, "and on my floor. Chocolates and Thai Food, maybe? And get the waitresses some gift certificates to someplace other than the diner. They certainly put up with us arguing enough."

"Good idea," he said, moving some of the arrangements to clear a space on the kitchen counter. "Want me to put some of these elsewhere?"

"Put Zack's on my side table, wherever else with the rest."

I read through the cards, every one of them wishing me a speedy recovery. Sully's included a "Congratulations. I know you'll be happy."

"This is the second arrangement Rodgers has sent me." Booth laughed.

"I think he's sweet on you, since you thanked him by name. Either that, or he's bored without us to keep him busy outside the Tech lab." I finished going through the cards, placed them with the rest, and sat at the island in his kitchen.

"Do you have any thank you cards?"

He rummaged in his desk. "I have some blank notecards," he offered. I took them, got a pen from the jar on the counter, and started writing notes to the senders. Booth continued washing the breakfast dishes in the sink, as I finished my note cards.

"Did I bring my checkbook?" I asked, starting up toward my briefcase. Opening it, I saw that I had, and brought my address book and the checkbook back to the island with me. Pausing to think, I picked up my phone and made a call.

"Hi, Bob, it's Temperance Brennan. Thank you, yes, I'm better. Well, not really. I have stage 3 lymphadenoma, secondary to a pituitary tumor. I'm meeting with the neurooncologist tomorrow. Are you available to meet this week? Friday? How about 2:00 o'clock? Good. Now, could you remind me of my liquid balance? And the rest? Ok, good. I was thinking about making some donations before we met and didn't want to overdraw what was in the money market. No, that's enough for now, though I may want to move some more money into it before too long. Alright, see you Friday."

I hung up. Booth was looking at me. "Who was that?"

"My accountant," I said. "I needed to check some things and we'll . . . need to meet with him to do some planning. You'll come with me Friday, won't you?" He nodded. I continued, "I want to make a donation to the medical center, and to the local ACS chapter. And Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch. I usually give to the last two, but it's time to do it again." He nodded.

"Need envelopes?"

"Yes, please." He went over to the desk, laid down a box of envelopes, and some stamps. I started writing checks, tearing them off and laying them on the counter.

"Bones, fifty thousand dollars? How much money do you have?!" I looked up at him.

"More than I could ever possibly need," I said, adding "and more than I could possibly spend on material things. I've already put money in trusts for my family, and Parker, and Zach, so I don't need to worry about them."

He interrupted me. "You started a trust for Parker? When?"

"About a year ago, when I got my last advance. I figured, well, I knew you would have insurance and have done what you could to provide for him, just in case, but since it was always . . . possible that you, and maybe me too, would be killed while we were working, a little extra wouldn't hurt." He looked astonished.

"Bones, that was while you were seeing Sully..."

"I know. But you've always been my best friend, and you were my only family at the time. I wanted to do something for you." I leaned over and kissed him.

"But, you'd only met him two or three times by then," he stuttered.

"Booth. He's your little boy, the most important thing in your life. How could I not care what might happen, what the effect might be on him? It's only money to me, but if it meant that he'd at least be taken care of financially, it was the least I could do after everything you've done for me." He blinked.

"Do I even want to know how much?" I was embarrassed, but I handed him the checkbook, flipping back to the entries I'd made when I'd set up the trusts. He'd find out sooner or later how much money I'd made on my books. No time like the present, my new motto. I'd spent the entire advance on those trusts. He scanned the deposit line, and then the withdrawal lines, made the same day.

"Jesus, Bones, your whole advance? I'd never make that much money over my entire lifetime." He paused. "You gave Parker the same amount as your family, as Zach."

"Well, you told me there are different kinds of family." He got up, pulled me off the stool, and kissed me.

He sighed, and then smiling down at me, saying, "Well, at least you can't accuse me of proposing to you just to get a sugar mama."

The doorbell rang, then, and we broke apart as he went to open the door. A giant fruit basket, containing dozens of varieties of apples, was eclipsing the delivery man standing in the doorway. Bringing the basket over and putting it on the counter, Booth pulled out the card and handed it to me.

Opening it, I read, "_Ok, you don't like cooked fruit. At least I remembered raw apples. I'm sorry about the experiment-- you were right that I couldn't possibly capture all the relevant data. Lance_."

Booth was reading over my shoulder. "What is Sweets talking about?"

"I'll tell you later. I'm going to go take a shower. Have you called your priest?" He shook his head. "Why don't you do that while I shower, let's see if they can talk to us with what's left of this afternoon."

I walked out of the room, as he called "you're amazing!" after me.

- - -

The priest was available to see us, and was very kind as Booth explained the situation. He told us that I didn't have to have been confirmed or even baptized, though I thought I had been, so long as I agreed that any children in the marriage were allowed to be introduced to the faith, and allowed to make their own decisions. I readily agreed, since my own objections to religion never extended to others' believing, or not believing. We looked through the calendar, picked the last Saturday of the month, and arranged to meet with the music director after Mass on Sunday. Coming from behind the desk, the priest shook Booth's hand, then reached out and clasped mine.

"Temperance, we don't always know why things happen, but I do believe that you and Seeley will live a long and happy life together."

"I hope so, Father," I answered, smiling.

I called Sweets in the car on the way home. His secretary answered, and put me right through to him after hearing who it was. "Dr. Brennan," he answered.

"Lance, thank you so much for the apples," I said. "They will go to good use. Booth tells me I have some weight to put back on. I might even let him make me a pie," I added, laughing as I said it.

He chuckled, and added, "I am sorry, Dr. Brennan."

"Lance," I interrupted, "it's OK. Really. Even with your urge to experiment and analyze, you're a friend."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and then said, "really?" in a small voice.

"Really. Though if you think we are continuing counseling, you're the one who's crazy."

He laughed. "No, I think the underlying emotional issues between the two of you have been fully resolved. I'm recommending that the FBI maintain the partnership."

I grinned. "Of course you are. Booth would shoot you, otherwise." Sweets laughed again, rather weakly this time.

"Don't think I haven't thought about that."

As we arrived back at Booth's, I said, "I'll call you after my appointment tomorrow, let you know how it went."

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan."

"Temperance, Lance."

Booth laughed, and spoke up. "I'm still calling him Sweets."

Sweets laughed as I disconnected the call.

When we got in, I checked my email, and Booth made me a cup of tea while I took my next dose. I worked some more on my new book, and then switched back to my current Kathy & Andy, working from the notes I'd collected. It was late afternoon when I glanced up from my computer, and Booth was chopping something in the kitchen. "What are you making?" I called.

"Chicken noodle soup," he replied, still chopping. "Did you call Angela?"

"I forgot," I exclaimed, and called her office, hoping she was still there. She immediately picked up the phone."

"Bren?" she answered, "that was a hell of a nap."

"I'm sorry-- I woke up and we went to the church to talk about the ceremony, and then I started writing, and I just remembered."

"The church?" she asked.

"Yes. I agreed to marriage, I might as well do the whole shazam."

"Shebang, Bren," she said, as Booth echoed her from the kitchen.

"So, maid of honor, I need to go dress shopping. Any ideas?"

"How's Saturday? I'll look into some stores and make some appointments. Want to have brunch before we go?"

"Sure," I replied. "Around 10:30?"

"Fine, got to go, Santana is here to get the i.d. on that skeleton you recovered. Your appointment is tomorrow?"

"I'll call you afterward," I said. "Love you, Ange."

She choked, said "you too," and rang off.

Hanging up, I wandered into the kitchen. "Can I help?" He handed me some celery, and pointed to the knife block and some more cutting boards.

"Half moons are good, they're already washed." We stood side by side, companionably chopping. When I was done with the celery, I slid it into the pot sitting on the stove, and then turned back to grab the leeks, which also seemed to have been washed.

"Coins, or half moons?" I asked.

"Coins, please," he said, as he slid the carrots in and started the heat under the pot, adding a glug of olive oil and some butter. He turned to the chicken, a whole one, and started cutting it into pieces, having no trouble as I sometimes did, cutting through the backbone and the legs. "Give that a stir," he added, as he washed his hands, and opened what turned out to be a spice drawer. As I stirred the vegetables, watching them caramelize, he added salt, pepper, dried thyme and rosemary, some bay leaves. Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a head of garlic, and picked off some cloves. Separating them, he put them on the counter and hit them lightly with the back of the knife. "Loosens the peels," he said, flicking the papers into the sink and tossing the cloves into the pot.

"I had no idea you were such a cook," I said.

"My mother made sure I knew how to feed myself," he replied, taking the spoon from my hand to push the vegetables to the side, and put in the chicken pieces, skin side down. After a few minutes, the smell of crackling chicken skin filled the kitchen, and he pulled a tupperware container from the refrigerator. "Chicken stock," he said, dumping the contents into the pot, and filling the container with water, adding that to the pot as well. He then reached into the fridge again, pulling out an open bottle of dry vermouth. "Secret ingredient is always booze," he smiled, pouring in a cup of the fortified wine. Covering the pot, he put the cutting boards and knives into the dishwasher, washed his hands, and set the timer for an hour, after turning the heat down to low.

Instead of wiping his hands on a towel, though, he turned to me, a cheeky grin on his face, and grabbed me, sliding his wet hands under my shirt.

"Booth!" I yelped, as his slid his hands up my sides and pulled my shirt over my head.

"Bones!" he said, mocking my tone. "I just... feel the need... for a bit of a snack before dinner," he said, delving between my breasts as he unhooked my bra and tossed in toward the living room. He boosted me up onto the island, unzipping my pants and pulling them down before I could say anything more. He tossed my shoes into the living room, too, followed by my socks and pants. I was reaching for his shirt, but he grasped both my wrists in one hand as he pulled it off himself, then began undoing his own pants.

"No, no, no. Bones, no work at all, you heard the doctor. It's bad enough you've been working on your book."

"Booth," I began, "this isn't work."

His eyes glinted at me, "Sure it is. Work is the application of physical effort to another object to effect a change in its position. Taking my shirt off is work. Therefore, no work for you." Still holding on to my wrists, he pulled his Scooby-Doo boxers down, stepping out of them and stepping between my legs. Still holding on to my wrists, he pushed me down onto the island, my core just at the edge, my legs hanging off the counter. "Endorphins have been clinically proven to help bolster the immune system," he said, as he knelt at the edge of the island, pulling my legs forward and over his shoulders with one hand, as the hand that was holding my wrists made its way down to press on my stomach. "Very good for healing," he continued, his breath hot on my inner lips and thighs.

While one hand kneaded my stomach, the other held on to one of my legs, keeping me pressed against him. I crossed my ankles behind him, holding on for dear life. I was so sensitive to him, not just from our earlier lovemaking. He licked the outside of my panties, running his tongue along the seams, nibbling my mound through the fabric before stroking me again with his tongue. I felt a sharp tug and heard ripping again, his mouth again descending on my core. I came almost immediately, as soon as his tongue dipped inside me. He continued to lap, and lick, and suck, and I could feel my juices running down my legs. My cries came in short bursts, my head rolling back and forth on the island as I heard the mail and other papers fall onto the floor. He slowed, sucking me hard one last time, and I screamed, knocking the jar of pens onto the floor as my arm flailed while another spasm seized me. He pulled himself up onto the island, pushing me backward, and slipping one arm under my head, sheathed himself within me, thickening further as he filled me. Pulling my knees up, he slid his other hand under my hips, and began thrusting into me, even slower than in the bathrub. The smells from the soup were quickly obscured by the smell of our sweat, our arousal, his musky, spicy smell as his face nuzzled my breasts, sucking and teasing and pulling my nipples with his mouth.

"I ... can't . . oh, I can't," I cried, my entire body shuddering with the force of orgasm after orgasm, as he just laughed, panting and trembling with the effort of going so slowly. At some point, I lost control over my voice, and could only squeak and whimper with each thrust, my arms somehow having come around his neck. "I'll have babies, get confirmed, go to Mass every Sunday," I cried, my voice hoarse and broken, "Just, Seeley, please, I can't..." My head was buried in his shoulder, his hand on my neck holding me to him. Gradually, he began to increase his pace, too slowly for me as I whimpered from the force of another climax tearing through me. My legs had flopped to the sides, and letting my head drop back, his hand still cushioning me from the hard surface of the island, he lifted my hips to him as he pushed into me, relentless, groaning my name as he increased his speed. As another wave of sensation rolled over me, causing me to scream again, he exploded within me, letting my hips drop and his weight fall on top of me.

He rolled off of me, disengaging himself, and pulled me to his side, my back against his chest, our knees drawn up. The heat of his chest against my back warmed me even as the cool and sweaty marble underneath us chilled me, and caused my nipples to harden. I shivered, more from the lovemaking than the cold, as he pulled the hair on my neck aside to kiss his way across my shoulders.

"You don't have to do any of those things," he said, as he continued to place soft kisses on my neck. "Just let me love you." His hand was drawing circles on my stomach, and I grasped it, lacing my fingers through his.

"Seeley, it's just, I'm ... overflowing. It's a lot, all at once. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, altogether, and along with everything else, it's . . ."

"Never enough to show you how much I love you." He interrupted. I sighed. There was no arguing with him. I was just going to have to let him make love to me until I turned into a permanent puddle of goo, it seemed. There were worse fates.

"You know, you were saying I need to gain weight, but I am sure I've lost ten pounds in the last 24 hours." He chuckled, the heat of his chest rumbling against my back.

"I put half a stick of butter in the oatmeal," he said, stopping to suck on my earlobe, "I knew you would need your energy later." Sitting up, he slid to the edge of the counter and jumped down, pulling me over and into his arms. With one hand, he turned off heat under the soup pot, and carried me down the hall. "Come on, stinky, into the shower with you. How _do_ you get so sweaty?"

- - -

He was washing my hair in the shower when he suddenly bent me over, placing my hands on the edge of the tub, and slid into me again, this time with no preamble, holding my hips from behind. "Booth," I whimpered. "You're not competing for the Guinness book of world records!"

Holding my hips, his voice low and husky, he half-whispered "I'm making up for lost time."

"Ah," I cried, as he pulled me onto him again, "not ... all ... in one day!" My hands were loosening their grip on the edge of the tub, and he moved one hand to my hips as he grabbed me around the chest with his other arm.

"Not in one lifetime," he panted, "but I am sure as hell going to try." The hand at my waist reached down, closing on my mound, his thumb rubbing against me. My knees buckled, and the last thing I remember was him grabbing me harder around my chest as a wave crested in me and everything faded.

- - -

When I woke, I found that he had again dried me off and put me to bed. It was fully dark out, and the clock glowed, telling me that it was 7:30. The smell of soup filled the apartment, and I heard him murmuring in the living room. I slipped out of bed, running my hands through my hair and pulling on the t-shirt and Casper the Friendly Ghost boxers I'd worn before we went out earlier that day.

Walking down the hall, I stopped as I head him say, "I'm sure this weekend would be fine, Mom. She wants to meet you too." He listened as she said something else, and his face shifted. "We don't know. We're supposed to see the doctor tomorrow, so I assume we'll figure out what happens after that then. We did meet with the priest and," he stopped, as she clearly interrupted him.

"No, she's not, but she said she wanted to make me happy. Do you know what I found out today? She set up a trust for Parker with part of her second book advance ... yes, the one she dedicated to me ... yeah, more than a year ago." He listened again. "Four million dollars." He laughed shakily. "I knew she'd done well off the books, you don't become a New York Times number one best seller three books in a row without making some money, but I had no idea." He paused again.

"No, why should it bother me? She's brilliant, she's beautiful, she's got the biggest heart I have ever known, she deserves all the best things the world can offer."

Embarrassed, though it was nothing he hadn't told me since I first told him I loved him, I turned and walked back into the bathroom, shutting the door just loudly enough so that he would hear it and know I was up. I brushed my teeth, and opened the door again, and walked back to the living room, settling into "my" chair as he continued his conversation. He raised an eyebrow at me, then said, "Actually, Mom, she's up. You want to talk to her?" He listened, grinned, handed me the phone.

"Um, hello Mrs. Booth," I said. "Caroline, dear. It's such a pleasure to finally speak to you, although I've certainly heard enough about you. Did Seeley tell you that Richard and I are going to come up this weekend?" I pretended as if I hadn't heard the earlier part of the conversation, and asked when they were arriving.

"Oh, Friday evening? We'll check into the hotel and perhaps have a nice dinner? Seeley mentioned you were going dress shopping with your friend Saturday morning, but I'm looking forward to spending time with Parker, as well."

Inhaling, and assuming that there would be no faster way to get to know my future mother-in-law than dress shopping, I said, "Caroline, I would love it if you would come, too. I am sure that Angela would love to meet Booth's mother, she's been pushing the two of us together all this time, and frequently wonders aloud who taught him such manners." She laughed on the end of the line, as Booth's face showed surprise.

"Really?"

"Absolutely," I confirmed.

We spoke for a few more minutes, and then she closed, saying, "Temperance, dear, I'll let you go since Seeley said he'd just finished making soup for dinner. I'll look forward to Friday."

"So will I," I said, hanging up the phone in the kitchen. Settling next to him in the couch, he wrapped his arm around me.

"That was nice of you."

"This is all happening so fast. I want her to feel included. And, Angela is less likely to pry if your mother is there."

"I wouldn't put anything past Angela." He kissed my nose, then asked, "Hungry?"

As I settled on my stool, he pulled out two plates of salad and a bottle of wine he'd already opened. "You like Viogner, right?" I nodded, and he poured us two glasses, then showed me the bottle. "I liked the label." It read "Honey Moon."

"Booth, you are such a hopeless romantic."

"Yep." He ladled some soup into the bowls sitting on the counter, and came back to sit down.

Two glasses of wine, a salad, and two bowls of really good soup later, I was full. Snagging the bottle and our empty glasses, he stood. "Movie?"

"Sure."

I settled into the couch as he selected a DVD and put the disc into the player."

"Princess Bride," he began. "It's about…"

"Stop that rhyming, I meant it," I intoned, cutting him off. "Even I have seen the Princess Bride."

Laughing, he asked if I wanted to watch something else. "No. I like it. And Cary Elwes is cute."

Booth sighed dramatically and flopped down next to me. "One more person I have to shoot."

We watched, reciting our favorite lines along with the film. During one of my favorite scenes, I turned to him.

"Have you ever fenced?"

"No, why, have you?"

"I have. It's fun, and challenging. I'll teach you."

He paused the movie. "Okay Bones, wait. You're licensed in handguns and to hunt in three states, have a black belt three kinds of martial arts, _and_ you swordfight? Anything else I should know, killer?"

"Staff and bow, too."

"Good lord. My wife knows more ways to kill people than I do. Just, don't let the guys at the office know, okay? They already think I'm totally whipped."

"I forgot about the whip! That, too."

"What!?"

"I really liked Indiana Jones. The dig scenes are a complete travesty, but that bullwhip was fascinating."

"You're kidding."

"No. Temperance Brennan, no sense of humor, remember?"

He laughed, and restarted the movie. I managed not to fall asleep, and the phone rang as the ending credits began. Answering it, Booth said, "Hi, Max. No, she's still up. Hold on, here she is."

"Dad, hi."

"Hi, honey," he said, his voice warm as ever. I loved him, but I sometimes had a hard time reconciling the man he was around me and as he was as a child with the vengeful killer I knew he could be. "I just called to wish you luck tomorrow."

"Thanks, Dad."

"You're going to make it through this, you know that, don't you?"

"Everyone keeps saying that. I certainly hope so." My eyes welled.

"I'm sure of it, if for no other reason than that I know that boy would shoot St. Peter himself if he thought it would help. And maybe even if it didn't. And I'd be right behind him."

"Dad," I said. He started singing then, "our" Poco song, and tears started streaming down my face. Booth shot me a concerned look, so I switched the phone to speaker as my dad continued to sing me his version of a lullaby. I switched the speaker off as he finished, and said "Thanks, Dad. Love you too." Booth motioned to me for the phone, so I said, "Don't hang up, Booth wants to talk to you."

Taking the phone, Booth said "Max, my parents are coming to town this weekend. Are you able to come to dinner Friday night?" He listened, then said, "Good. One of us will call you with the details later. Okay, 'night." Hanging up, he smiled. "Charmingest cold-blooded killer I know."

"Hmm. Are you sure your parents aren't going to freak in?"

"Freak out, Bones, out. Want some ice cream?"

I looked at him dubiously. "It's kind of late."

He shot me a wounded glance. "Bones! It's _never_ too late for ice cream." He turned to the freezer and pulled out some containers, then started rattling things into bowls. I went down to the bathroom and took my last shot of the day, and returned as he was finishing up. With a flourish, he held out a bowl to me as I settled back on the couch.

"Booth! It's my favorite! How did you know?"

"C'mon, Bones. Daisy? Daffodill? Jupiter? Coffee ice cream with butterscotch sauce, bananas, and toasted almonds? I know _everything_. Secret FBI Agent Powers, remember?"

I ignored his cocky smirk, and just dug in.

- - -

Later, I woke as he lifted me and carried me down the hall.

"Time?"

"Midnight," he replied, putting me down on the bed and starting to tug my t-shirt over my head.

"No, Booth. So tired…" I grumbled.

"I know, baby. I just don't want anything between us." He finished tugging his boxers from me, and pulled me over into the crook of his arm.

"So bossy."

"Seeley knows best," he rumbled, kissing me on the forehead.


	16. Chapter 16

16

16.

I was dreaming of the time he'd been captured by Hugh Kennedy and tortured. Except in the dream, we hadn't been in time, and he'd died, bleeding out as I tried to stanch cuts and burns. I was sobbing in the dream, hysterical over what I hadn't been able to tell him, and I must have been crying in my sleep, too, because Booth was shaking my shoulder. "Temperance. Bones. Wake up, love."

Waking, I could just see his shadow at my side, leaning to look down at me. "What's wrong?"

"I was dreaming about Kennedy, except this time I couldn't get there in time, and you died. You were bleeding all over me, and I hadn't told you…"

"Do you have that dream often?" His voice was soft, his hand stroking my back.

"Among others. The Checkerbox, Gil Lappin, the fridge…" My voice trailed off. In truth, any time anyone had every shot at him since we'd started working together left me with nightmares that he'd been hit—for days, sometimes weeks afterward. I'd never told him that was why my light was on so late, or why I got to the lab so early. There is a literary character who says at one point, "Dark have been my dreams of late," and that's often how I felt when it came to worrying about him after I'd gone to sleep. Those dark dreams were why I always insisted in following him in—some part of me believed that I could stop him from being hurt, or make him hold on if he was. The darkest part of that thought was that perhaps I could intercept the hurt instead, since I couldn't imagine living without him, or the world doing without him. There are other forensic anthropologists. There's only one Booth.

He tilted my head up, and kissed me so sweetly my heart almost stopped. Pulling me against him, he kissed my eyelids, my forehead, my nose. "I'll to everything I can to never leave."

"Me too." I rested my head against his chest, so I could hear his heart. "Me too."

Some time later, I woke, cold. Three o'clock. I realized he wasn't in bed, but was standing in the window, looking down at the street below. His hands were clasped on the windowsill, white-knuckled. His shoulders were shaking, almost imperceptibly, but I'd spent the last three years with him not to gain some sense of how he moved, how he stood still. I slid from bed and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my head against his back. A sob broke from him and he turned, picking me up and sitting on the edge of the bed, holding me so tightly I could barely draw a breath. He was shuddering, and I shifted so I could wrap my arms and legs around him, pull him to my shoulder, let his heart beat against mine. "Seeley, shh. Lover, it's alright." As I spoke, he just clasped me tighter, bonewracking cries shaking him. I continued to hold him, stroke his hair, his back, continued to tell him I loved him, that we'd make it, over and over, as he held on to me like the world was ending. Eventually he quieted, but I continued to hold him, as he slowed and matched his breathing to mine.

"Better?" He nodded, mutely, still buried in my shoulder. "Let me get you some water." I filled the glass in the bathroom, grabbed tissues from the vanity. He was sitting where I'd left him, looking lost, so I climbed back into his lap, leaning back a bit so I could see his face. "Blow," I said, holding some tissues under his nose. He did, then pulled some more from the box himself and blew again. I handed him the glass and he took it, finishing half and handing it back. I drank the rest and set the glass on the floor under the bed. Pulling him up, I lead him back to his side of the bed. He got in without protest, but then grabbed my wrist and pulled me on top of him. Looking down, I saw the same fear in his eyes that I'd seen in my own, many late nights after many dark dreams.

I kissed him then, looked him in the eyes, tried to make him believe. "I won't give up." I kissed him again, slid to his side, looped my arm and leg across him, and laid my head on his heart as I traced his chest and arms with my hand. He brought an arm around my waist, his other resting on the leg I'd brought across him. His breathing deepened, and I began to hope he'd return to more peaceful sleep. I continued to trace him—I needed to feel the reality of him beneath me. I laid a kiss on his heart. "You're so beautiful," I whispered, pressing another kiss there.

The arm underneath and around me tightened then, and he increased his grip on my leg. I continued to trace his front and sides, dropping kisses where I could reach. He took his hand off my leg and took the hand I'd been stroking him with. Pulling it to his mouth, he kissed my open palm, then tipped it to kiss the back of my hand, then every fingertip. I shifted so I could kiss his neck, his face, his shoulders, and let my lips memorize every inch I could reach, as his hand at my back stroked, featherlight, up my spine.

I felt my own heat pooling below as I tried to keep soothing him. But he suddenly rolled me onto my back, his entire body pressing me down but where he leaned on his forearms over me, his breath mingling with mine and his eyes still dark with fright and love.

"I'd storm Heaven for you," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Clasping his chin, making him meet my eye, I hoped he'd believe me when I said, "So would I."

He gave me the saddest smile I'd ever seen, then kissed me, sighing, "My Bones," and laying his head over my heart.

"My Booth," I said, tracing his cheek with my fingers.

He sighed. "I must be crushing you," he mumbled into my chest, but made no effort to move. I could feel him hard against my leg, and felt my walls cramp in response.

"No. You're holding me to the Earth. Gravity and other physical laws are exceedingly unreliable in this house." I could feel him smile, and bent my neck up so I could kiss the top of his head. His erection twinged firmly against me again, and an answering trickle began to flow from me, the scent rising between us. Without a word, he lifted himself, straddling my legs tightly, pressing them together. Shifting, he pushed into me, the tension and pressure of him between my shuttered legs so intense as he filled me that I cried out in disbelief. He was so slow, and withdrew completely several times, my core so painful in his absence that I begged him to fill me. I knew he needed to hear me pleading for him, so he knew he was all that I wanted, and it became a dance of withdrawal and an ache so strong in me that each time he returned to me, I clenched around him, coming hard and painfully and blissfully. I cried, and moaned, and begged, and he groaned, and growled, and gave, finally shouting my name as he let go within me. I wrapped my arms around him, kissing his neck, and let myself float.

- - -

The alarm the next morning was harsh. Seeley slept on, his weight still atop me, making it nearly impossible to move. I had barely managed to extricate an arm when he reached out with his hand, yanked the alarm from the wall, and threw it across the room. He groaned, and without even opening his eyes, stuffed the arm I'd moved back underneath him. He nestled his head closer into my neck, his breath hot on me.

I couldn't help it—I started laughing. Cracking one eye open, he turned his head to look at me and growl.

"'S not funny. 'S too early."

"You sleep some more. I'll go make some coffee."

"No," he grumbled. "My Bones, you have to stay here. 'M warm."

I tickled my hands up his sides.

"Stop it," he mumbled, but I continued. Then his tongue was tracing my ear, and a hand was on my breast, and I realized he was still inside me, already firm with his morning erection, and getting firmer by the moment.

"Booth, we have too…"

"So warm," he husked, sucking my earlobe before moving his head to taste the hollow of my throat. "Like salty honey," he murmured, and he thickened within me again.

"Seeley," I gasped, marveling as my body moistened around him, responded to him without any thought of my own.

"'S conservation of energy, Bones. I'm already here," he breathed, and levered himself up so he could bend to my breasts, sucking and kneading each in turn. One arm slid beneath my hips, and he pulled out and bucked into me. "Besides," he said, lifting his head from my breast to look at me with eyes full of lust, "I always do push ups in the morning." I moaned as he bucked into me again, my own hips arching against him.

"How many," I whimpered.

"A lot." The promise in his voice made me flood around him in response.

- - -

A vigorous and loud half hour later, Booth sprang out of bed, hauling my limp body after him and over his shoulder. I was too limp to protest as he bounced me on his shoulder down the hall to the bathroom, singing some obscene army cadence at the top of his lungs. Still holding on to me, he turned the taps and stepped into the shower, sliding me down his front until I was standing against him, his arm at my waist keeping my legs from giving out from under me. "Come on Bones, time to wash." I was going to kill him. As soon as I could control my muscles again. Which would be in about a week, I guessed, as long as he didn't touch me at all.

"Bones, wakey, wakey," he taunted, as I tried to make a fist with the hand pressed to his chest. It didn't work.

"I hate you," I mumbled.

"No, Bones, you loooooooovvvve me, and I," he boomed, thumping his chest, "I loooooovvve you!"

I just stood there, letting the water beat on my back, hoping it would revive me. Laughing, Booth started rubbing shampoo in my hair, massaging my scalp until I started to come back to life. Swatting him, I pushed away and turned to grab the conditioner, letting the shampoo run out of my hair. He laughed again. Perpetual motion rat bastard.

He stepped out of the shower before me, and when I finished and pulled back the curtain, he was standing there with his arms open, a towel waiting for me.

"C'mere," he said, stepping forward and wrapping the towel around me.

"Grr," I said, as he toweled my hair. He ignored my Evil Death Glare.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Shrugging into a robe, he left the bathroom and answered the door. I heard a "Hey, man," and a voice that sounded like Jack's, followed by a "thanks again" and the door's closing.

Walking naked into the living room, I asked "Was that Jack?"

"Yeah. He brought us coffee and apricot, almond, and chocolate croissants from that bakery you and Angela just started going to."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

- - -

We managed to make it to the Medical Center with time to spare, and settled in Dr. Thornton's waiting area across from an equally scared-looking couple. The husband had my last book in his lap, but he was staring into space, his fingers clasped whitely across the back of the book, my author's photo facing up. His wife's hand was resting on his arm. I smiled at them, thinking at least here was one couple who might understand how Booth and I were feeling, and he smiled back, then shook himself, and looked down at my book.

"You're…"

"Yes." I smiled again.

His wife looked at us both. "Oh, you're John's favorite author, you always were, even before what you did for Carol and Jimmy and Andy."

I shot a startled look at Booth. He was equally wide-eyed.

"Carol Grant?"

"Yes—she's our daughter. I'm sorry, I'm Linda, this is David."

"David Keogh," he said, extending his hand. In response to Booth's inquiry into Andy's welfare, Linda launched into a litany of his milestones, from propping himself up to what level of chewable food he was consuming. David, though, was quiet, and as his wife ended her stories, he looked at me with the same open, kind expression that Carol had—the look that had decided us that "our" Andy would be well-loved.

"I'd heard on the news the other day that you'd been ill and in the hospital, but they said you'd recovered."

"Well, I recovered enough to go home. I'm here to see Dr. Thornton."

His face fell, and he reached across to take my hand again. "She's very good. I have a stage 2 pituitary tumor, and I'm six weeks into my chemo. She tells me I have a good chance."

"That's heartening news," I said. Turning to Booth, I said, "Let me introduce you to…"

Linda interjected, "Oh, you must be Agent Booth. You look exactly as Carol described you. Oh, Dr. Brennan, you have such friends in West Virginia, that bridge is almost finished and people are already moving back to town." Richard smiled at his wife's effusiveness.

I was a little upset when she told me that—I'd asked Carol to keep my role in the project quiet, but I guessed in a town that small, it was nearly impossible. Just then, a nurse called my name, something about paperwork, and Booth got up to check. I smiled in response, saying "I just want Andy to have a future."

David quietly asked me then if I knew my diagnosis. I nodded. "Stage 3(a) pituitary tumor with 5-noded lymphadenoma." He jerked, then gripped my hand tightly, before pulling his hand back to reach into his blazer pocket. "Here is my card—please call me if you want someone to talk to."

"I will, David, thank you." David dropped my hand then as Booth returned, grumbling about health insurance cards and computers. "Did you straighten it out, or did you have to shoot the computer?"

"Nah, I just threatened to arrest the insurance company representative."

Linda laughed nervously, but David smiled broadly. "I see your characters' banter stems from real life experience."

Linda was trying to recover herself, and said, "Oh, what a beautiful ring. But Carol said you were single?"

Booth gave her a pained smile. "We're getting married at the end of the month."

"So soon?" she exclaimed, and David shot her a look.

"Linda."

Booth smiled at her again then, and said, "No time like the present." The nurse called them then, and David shook our hands again. "Dr. Brennan, do call if you need to."

"I will."

- - -

The appointment went as expected. Dr. Thornton explained my treatment options, in as much detail as the research I'd read, and she was, indeed, very nice. She insisted I call her Delia to my Temperance. We agreed I would start an aggressive course of chemotherapy for eight weeks, starting two weeks from then.

"Here's a vain question. We're getting married at the end of October. Will I still have my hair at that point?"

Delia laughed, and said, "I'm glad your priorities are in order. No, you should be fine, it usually takes about six weeks before there are any noticeable physical side effects."

I sighed dramatically. "You know, cancer and serial killers are one thing, but losing my hair? That really scares me."

We finished up and met with the nurse to schedule my treatment sessions and follow-up appointments with Delia. In light of my seminar, we decided on three-hour blocks in the afternoons on Tuesday through Thursday. "You should bring someone with you, since some people get dizzy or sleepy afterward."

We took the scheduling and other paperwork, and walked to the car, both in contemplative moods.

"Diner," he asked, as he pulled the car out.

"Of course."

- - -

The waitresses fussed over us since we hadn't been in, and brought us our usual, a cheeseburger and fries for Booth, a coffee milkshake and a garden salad for me. As we ate, we discussed how we should handle the inevitable publicity, and agreed we'd let my publisher take care of most inquiries. When it was time for dessert, the waitress cleared our plates, then said, "Coffee, right? And do you want cherry, apple, lemon mereringue, shoefly, or chocolate cream pie?"

"Apple, please."

Before she could leave, I said, "I'll try some lemon mereingue."

She stared at me for a moment, and then noticed we were holding hands on the table. Noticing my ring, she cried, "Oh my God! Finally!" We were immediately surrounded by the other waitresses and even the fry cook. After finishing our pie, (I had some of Booth's too-- it was tasty), we extracted ourselves from their many well-wishes and headed home. I was feeling a little overwhelmed, and as we dropped our things inside the door, I turned to hug Booth.

"I'm tired, and this morning's been a bit much."

"I know, baby. Want me to call everyone for you?"

"Oh, Seeley, would you?" He looked down, his expression serious, and kissed me, then led me back to make sure I was settled in bed.

I woke later, feeling somewhat better. Coming down the hall, I heard chopping, over the sound of the late afternoon news. He was standing at the island, watching the television as he cut vegetables, a cookbook in front of him, and I came around to his side of the island to slip my hand around his waist.

"Did you reach everyone?"

"Mmm-hmm. Your publisher, too."

"How did they take it?"

"Like orphans."

"That bad." He nodded. Just then, my attention was drawn to the newscast.

"In other news today, it was announced that District resident Dr. Temperance Brennan, best-selling author, renowned forensic anthropologist, and consultant to the F.B.I., has been diagnosed with cancer. Dr. Brennan and her family have requested that in lieu of any cards or gifts, donations be sent to her publisher, made payable to the American Cancer Society or Georgetown Medical Center. We at WNRV wish Dr. Brennan well, and feel a personal connection, as she and her partner, F.B.I. Special Agent Seeley Booth were able to solve the mystery of the disappearance of our station director's granddaughter, child beauty pageant contestant Brianna Swanson."

Booth grabbed the remote, shut off the television, as we both stared at the screen.

"This is weird. More than weird. All these people coming out of the woodwork, now."

"Maybe it's the universe's way of saying you have more work to do."

"I hope so. We still have 19 more people on your list, then 2 people on mine."

His head snapped toward me, shock plain on his face. "You kept track?"

"Of course. You're my partner, Seeley. Partners look out for each other."

He turned to embrace me. "Oh, Bones," he whispered, pulling me tighter against him.

Just then, the phone rang, and he leaned over to check the number. "Florida. I'll get it."

While he picked up the phone, I checked the recipe. Saag Paneer? The man was full of surprises. I finished the onions he'd been chopping, then rinsed the spinach and started stripping the stems, half listening to his conversation.

"Hey man, how are you? Yeah, well, as good as can be expected. Yeah. You did?" There was a long pause. "That's … I'd . . . we'd appreciate that." Another pause. "You already talked to him? Okay, did he say when? Friday? How's 9:30? Okay, good. Listen, thanks. Thanks."

"Who was that?"

"Sully. Said he'd gotten a call from Charlie when we first got together, which explains the flowers, then said Charlie called him this afternoon with the rest of the news. He . . . called Cullen, offered to come back and pitch in on the Jeffersonian cases. He's getting back tomorrow, Cullen wants to meet Friday."

I was dumbstruck. "Why would he… I mean, we…"

"He cares about you. And . . . he said he knows what it's like to lose a partner." I sighed, then went over to hug him again. It really was like the universe was trying to tell me something, and while normally I'd laugh at the possibility of fate, the sheer number of coincidences since I'd become ill were hard to ignore.

"You said Providence. Or Serendipity—a series of seemingly interconnected events or coincidences, culminating in a fortuitous event."

He growled into my hair. "It better."

Trying to lighten the mood, I said "I hope so. Try explaining to the Review Board why you shot Saint Peter." As I'd hoped, he laughed.

Coming back behind the island, he said, "How far did you get in the recipe?"

- - -

Dinner was delicious, but quiet. Toward the end, the phone rang and I answered. It was Rebecca—she'd forgotten that Parker had a half day at school the next day, and the nanny wasn't available. I told her we'd be glad to take him, then added, "Why not come get him after dinner? I'll help him with any homework he might have."

Rebecca was silent, then said, "Thank you. That would be great." She paused again. "When are you going to tell him... everything?"

I recounted the brief conversation I'd had with Parker the other night, and said I'd explain a little more when we saw him tomorrow. "I'll save him most of the details, but since it's entirely possible I'll get a lot sicker before I get better, he ought to know what to expect, at least generally."

She agreed, and then asked, "Have you two set a date yet?"

"Last Saturday of October. You'll come? We'd like Parker to be the ring bearer, if..."

"Of course, Ok if I bring Brent?"

"Of course. Do you need to talk to Booth?" I asked.

"No, I think we've covered everything. Thanks again, Temperance, and," she paused, "I certainly hope you get through this, and quickly, not only for Seeley's sake. But, you know, his too. He was never this in love with me, I don't know what he would do if..." and trailed off again.

"I'll do what I can," I interrupted, then said, "See you tomorrow," and hung up the phone. Booth shot me an inquiring glance.

"Parker has a half day. I told her we'd pick him up and take him until after supper. Do you suppose he'll want to go to the aquarium, like he said?"

"I'm sure of it. It'll be nice to have him."

"It will."

We picked up the dishes from the table, me rinsing and him loading them into the dishwasher. I scrubbed the stuck-on bits on the pots, asking "where did you get the paneer?"

"Little Indian convenience store around the corner. They have some refrigerated Indian dairy and sweets in addition to all the chips and other regular things."

The doorbell rang, then, and Booth said, "It's late for more flowers. I swear, that doorbell's rung more in the last week than the whole time I've been here. Not that I am complaining, mind you." He headed off to the door, looked through the peephole. Turning back, he said, "Jack and Angela," and let them in. Angela looked distraught, Jack hardly much better, and he produced a full bottle, waving it a bit.

"Twenty-four year Barra scotch. Want to help drown your sorrows? Or at least ours?" Touched, Booth slung an arm around Jack's shoulders, and guided him into the living room, as I went to Angela and hugged her.

She choked back a sob, and patting her back, I said, "You have to wait until we're totally crapfaced before you start being a weepy drunk, Ange."

She half-laughed, half-sobbed again, and said "Shitfaced, Bren, shitfaced" as we went over to the couch. She sat down next to me, and grabbed my hand, as Booth settled in the arm chair next to Hodgins'. Putting down some old-fashioned glasses and a bowl of pretzels, he opened the bottle and poured, then got up.

"I'm going to go set the alarm now, before I forget."

Hodgins downed the first shot, saying "Slainte," and poured himself another as Ange and I did the same.

"L'chaim."

"To life."

Ange looked at the pretzels with an expression of distaste. "How can you eat?"

Coming back into the room, Booth grinned-- "It's mostly something to throw up later." "Anyone want soda or ice?"

"I'll take some," I said. "Soda's hydrating, right?"

Booth downed his shot, got up and brought back an ice bucket and a bottle of seltzer. I munched some pretzels, swallowed half of my drink at one go, Ange still holding on to my hand.

Looking at Hodgins, Booth said, "The sofa pulls out, but I'm not sure I can be responsible for getting you up tomorrow in time for work."

"Cam gave us the day off."

After the initial buzz set in, we all slowed our pace a bit, trading jokes and stories about cases, including Zack. It was the first time I'd heard Jack even mention Zack since it had all happened, and I reached across to clasp his hand. "He misses you, you know."

"You've seen him?" He swallowed.

"Yes. He's quiet. He's sad. It's hard, but ... he needs me."

"He needs us," said Jack, steeling something within himself.

Looking at him, seeing grief in him like we'd both felt when neither of us thought we'd escape being buried alive, I said, "I'm going to see him Friday morning while Booth has a meeting. Want to go with me? I'll let you drive."

He laughed then. "I thought that was Booth's job."

"I'm becoming mellow in my decrepitude," I said.

We each talked a little about things that had happened before we knew each other, some things funny, some heart-breaking, and Angela told some embarrassing stories about when we'd been in college. It became quiet, as I worked on my sixth scotch and soda, and wondered at the fact that I was now feeling stone-cold sober. Looking across at Booth, I could see that he was pretty much the same. Jack and Angela, however, were getting increasingly drunk. It had gotten quiet, and Ange had gone into the bathroom. I head a sob, then, and got up to check on her. Opening the bathroom door, I saw her holding her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. I'd left my medication and needles out after dinner, thinking I'd put them away later.

"Oh, Ange," I sighed, steering her over to the toilet and putting the lid down, seating her on it. She sobbed again, and grabbed me around the waist, sobbing into my stomach. I put one hand on her shoulder, stroked her hair with my hand. Eventually, her breathing slowed, and I pulled off some toilet paper, offering it to her. She blew her nose, looked up at me, her eyes swollen and red. Still smoothing her hair, I said, "Angela. I have survived Nicaraguan guerillas, rogue FBI agents, a kidnapping, and all those arguments with Booth. Do you really think I won't fight something like cancer?"

She gulped, said, "and all those experiments in the lab, and Epps, and those awful outfits you used to wear in college. Those flannel shirts were a close call." I laughed, and wet a washcloth, handing it to her to wipe her face.

"Come on, you weepy drunk, you, let's go back before those boys pass out. I don't know about Hodgins, but I sure can't drag Booth to the bedroom by myself."

My arm around her waist, we made our way back to the living room. Booth and Hodgins had already pulled out the sofa and made the bed, and I saw Booth had also laid out some extra clothes for them, including some of my things for Angela. I laughed internally at the thought of Jack, dwarfed by Booth's clothes. Jack was well-proportioned, but Booth was a giant compared to him. Tugging me after her, Angela climbed onto the bed. Sitting Indian style, I let her lean my head against my shoulder. Jack sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up as Booth came over and handed me one of the glasses, filled to the rim this time.

"Hold on," he said, heading to the kitchen. He came back with a razor blade, a tube of ointment, and four band aids. Climbing up onto the bed, and sat. Looking at me with his eyes dark, and a look he usually reserved just for me, he said, "Old Ranger tradition, night before the first deployment." Then, dipping the razor into the liquid, he slit his thumb on the blade, and dipping his thumb in the glass, squeezed so he bled into the liquid. Removing his thumb, he handed me the glass, putting his thumb in his mouth to stop the bleeding. With all the seriousness I would treat the observation of a religious ceremony, I took the razor, dipped it into the glass, and sliced my own thumb, plunging it into the liquid. It stung, and I watched as my own blood clouded the drink further. I handed Angela the drink, the razor, and as tears streamed down her face, she did the same, Jack following her.

Handing the glass back to Booth, Jack put down the razor and watched as Booth swirled the glass, until the blood that had settled in the bottom of the glass tinted the entire liquid a muddy pink. Looking at each of us, he hoarsely whispered "family," and knocked back a good part of the drink.

I took the glass from his shaking hand, repeated "family," and drank. It was the sweetest thing I'd ever tasted.

Angela sobbed out "family," and drank, handing the glass to Jack, whose hands were also shaking as his voice cracked on "family." Looking around, he downed the rest of the glass. Booth opened a band-aid, squeezed some ointment onto it, and put it on my thumb, kissing it after he'd finished. I did the same for him, and Angela and Jack followed.

Jack snorted, "Scooby-Doo?"

"When you have a five-year old, you can laugh."

Kissing Ange on the cheek and Jack on the forehead, Booth pulled me up from the bed, and I repeated his gestures, Ange and Jack both clinging to me a bit as I did so. Booth gravely said "Goodnight, family," and we walked back to the bedroom, and shut the door.

- - -

Booth leaned with his back against the door, sighing.

"That was . . . very good of you," I said, though I wasn't as surprised as I might have been that he'd shown such tenderness to my friends. Our friends.

"Well, it's true. They are family." Shedding our clothes, we climbed into bed, and I shifted, wrapping my arms around him.

--

I woke the next morning to what sounded like Jack heaving his guts into the toilet. Booth was holding me in his arms, and I could feel his chest rumble with repressed laughter. "Such beautiful music. How do you feel?"

"Fine," I replied. "For whatever reason, I never really got drunk."

"Neither did I." Pulling me up so I was above him, he used his hand to lower my face to him for a kiss.

"Good morning," I said, my hand splaying across his chest.

"Good morning," he replied, kissing me again.

"What time is it?"

"Eight. A while before we have to get up. We don't need to get Parker until 12:30." I kissed him again, and he deepened it, his tongue tracing my lips, my teeth, and pulling my tongue into his mouth with gentle suction. I could hear Angela talking to Jack in the bathroom, then a thump as she apparently pushed him aside and vomited herself. I laughed into Booth's kiss, as he drew his fingers up my side, tickling firmly and surprising a squeal from me.

"Booth!" I exclaimed, as he rolled me onto my back and started tickling my ribs with both hands. I laughed out loud, and tried for his back. Somehow, he managed to elude my grasp while continuing his assault on me, tickling and pinching my sides, my back, my neck, my feet. I was gasping, "Stop it, Booth, stop, I can't breathe," as he tortured me further. I didn't really want him to stop, but I was having trouble breathing, something that was becoming a common occurrence around him. The feel of his hands on me, even tickling me, had caused a flush to spread through my body, and I felt a now-familiar tension building in me. "Ooh, ah, quit it!" I cried, as he continued to run his nails across the soles of my feet. Suddenly, he did stop, only to push my legs apart and pull me down to the edge of the bed.

"Are you wet for me?" he asked, as he slid off the bed and knelt before me. Stroking me with his hand, he said "you are," and placed a kiss on my center, pushing his tongue into me and managing, somehow, unbelievable man, to tickle my G-spot.

"Booth," I panted, "they'll hear us."

"So? Maybe it'll make Angela's hangover feel better." He closed his lips on me again, sucking and lapping and nibbling, one hand holding my hips down as the other traced up and down my leg. "I love the way you taste," he said, his breath tickling me, before he returned to kiss me again.

My forehead became numb as all the blood rushed to my center, and I gasped, "Seeley, oh!" as he inserted his fingers in me, twisting and curling as his mouth moved to my clitoris, sucking and licking and sucking again. As I screamed in my climax, he stood, never letting go of my legs, and pulled my hips up and off the bed as he guided himself into me.

"You're so wet, so hot, so tight for me," he groaned, as I grasped the sheets and marvelled again at how he filled me, completely.

"Only for you," I moaned, as he withdrew and plunged into me again.

"Bones," he groaned, repeating the motion. "We'll hold," he gasped, as he entered me again, maintaining his pace.

I wet my lips. "We'll hold," I managed, before he shifted his hold, moving closer to the bed until his knees were resting against the frame, and he moved one hand to support my lower back.

"We have to," he whispered, placing his other hand on my mound, and pulling my clitoris lightly between his fingers. He repeated the motion, and I screamed, as my walls cramped around him and liquid burst from me. Withdrawing and plunging into me, I came again, crying out each time he left me and returned. He was gasping "Temperance," and with a dozen harder thrusts, each of which caused me to cry out, he shouted "Ah!" and fell forward, one arm reaching out to stop him, leaving him leaning over me. I just gasped, as he leaned over me, panting, sweat dripping onto my ribs from his forehead, and mingling with my own. Slowly, he backed away from me, and used the arm still under me to scoot me up toward the headboard. Sliding his hand up my back, he laid down beside me, resting his head on my chest and slinging an arm and one leg across me, pinning me down. "I love you," he whispered, kissing the top of my breast.

"I love you," I replied, reaching one of my hands down to cover the hand grasping my waist. We laid there some minutes, him still panting and me still drawing shallow breaths, when we heard the bathroom door slowly open, and four feet attempt to sneak back to the living room. I heard Angela's laugh float down the hallway. Booth's chest rumbled again, and he propped himself on his side, kissing my forehead before lowering his head to the breast closest to him, his other hand rising to palm the other.

"Seeley," I sighed, knowing it was useless to argue. I just lay back to enjoy the ride.

Two more lovemaking sessions with accompanying yelling, groans, screams, and a brief nap later, it was 9:45. "We really should get up," I said, turning to Booth from where he'd been spooning me.

"I already am," he said, his erection hardening behind me.

"No!" I yelled, slapping the hand creeping down my behind again, "three times is enough for this morning." I rolled out of bed, quickly, to prevent him from grabbing me and pinning me under him. "Booth, we have guests!" I shouted, as he rose to a kneeling position on the bed, and grinned at me.

"They're grownups," he growled, "they can take care of themselves." I threw the door open, ran into the bathroom naked, hoping that there wasn't a view up the hall from the sofabed. I started shutting the door, when I felt his hand push back on the other side.

"Temperance," he warned, before pushing the door open and then shutting it behind him. With a predatory gleam in his eye, he said "What did I tell you about always doing what I want?" He closed the distance, lifted me onto the sink, and leaned to bite my shoulder as he spread my legs and pushed himself into me.

"Jesus God, Seeley!" I cried, as he pulled me forward again, and my legs wrapped themselves around him. I put my arms out behind me, trying to steady myself, as he relentlessly pulled me forward onto him, using enough force with each thrust to send shudders through me, one rolling into the other.

"Five is my lucky number," he growled, as he continued moving us together.

I could only whimper. "Five?"

He grasped my earlobe with his teeth, pulled gently, as one hand left my hips to grasp my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat. Running his tongue down the column of my throat, he bit the hollow of my neck, and then continued across to my other shoulder. I was just gasping now, one hand gripping the arm that kept pulling me to him. "Be grateful it's not seven," he whispered in my ear, as he bit my breast, nipping his way down to my nipple and sucking hard.

I lost my grip on the counter, crying "Booth," as I slid backwards.

His hand, still behind my head, grasped me and held me as he pulled me forward again, and I moaned as another wave washed over me. This time, the clenching of my walls made him shout "Bones," and he unleashed a wash of heat into me. Shifting his grip from behind my head, he pulled me off the counter, and grasped me underneath my behind, still sheathed in me, as I continued to spasm around him, whimpering. He turned, and still holding me, stepped into the tub, and withdrew from me, letting me down to sit on the floor of the tub as he leant past to turn on the water. I could feel it splashing behind me as I panted, and then he drew the curtain and switched the lever to the shower. Putting a hand under each arm, he hauled me up and leaned me against his chest. My knees were still shaking, and he began to rub shampoo into my hair as he chuckled. I just leaned there, as he reached between us to lather our fronts, and then did my back and his. The water washed over us, along with the smell of his shampoo, an herbal-lemon scent that I quite liked. Just as my knees steadied, he took one of the hands that I'd placed on his side, and slipped it down between us, his hand wrapping mine around his, good lord he was going to kill me, engorged and enormous penis. "I walked around like this for three years, Bones," he said, his voice husky but strong. "Do you know what it's like to have a three-year hard on?" I just moaned, as he let go of my hand and slipped his hand between my legs, stroking me. Lifting me, and pressing me against the wall behind the shower curtain, he moved one hand behind my head, the other raising one leg until my knee was over his hip. He then slid his hand under my rear end and boosted me, pressing my back into the wall as my other leg came up of its own accord and I crossed my ankles behind him. Letting go of my head for a moment, he reached between me with his hand, spreading my lips as he slid into me, the water streaming between our bodies. Grasping my head again, and kneeling on the edge of the tub so that his own knees were pressed into the wall, he bucked against me, hard, partially withdrawing before slamming into me again. I lost count, wondering if it was the twentieth or twenty first thrust that undid me, and I cried "Seeley," before the room faded and I drifted again.

- - -

I woke, back in bed, alone. Rolling over, the clock read eleven. Groaning, I rolled back over, noticing as I did that he'd wrapped my wet hair in a towel. Did the damned man think of everything? Apparently. Was he intending to make sure I got my sleep by repeatedly making love to me until I passed out? It seemed so. Was I going to lie in bed all day asking myself rhetorical questions? I decided no. Hearing voices from the kitchen, I pulled myself out of bed, and out of deference to company, I dug out some of my own pajama pants and a camisole. Looking around, I saw an FBI sweatshirt on top of one of the baskets of laundry we still hadn't put away, and slipped it over my head. My hair was only slightly damp, so I took his hairbrush from his bureau and parted my hair, gathering it back into a ponytail.

I made my way down the hall. The three of them were sitting at the counter, drinking coffee, large glasses of juice sitting in front of Angela and Jack. Booth heard me first, and looked up with that predatory grin. He was already dressed and ready for the day. "Slugabed," he greeted me, and I flushed. Jack and Angela both turned to me, and Angela leered. They were also dressed, though in their clothes from last night.

Jack just smiled his usual friendly grin, before turning back to Booth, saying, "Dude. Just, five times? Don't go building up Angela's expectations like that-- it's not fair to the rest of us."

Booth snorted, licked his lips as he looked at me again, and said "Just trying to stay in shape."

Angela took in my increasing red face, and took pity on me, coming over to lead me by the hand to the island, and leaning in, said, "And what a shape."

"That shape has made me lose seven pounds since Sunday, I'll have you know," I said, straightfaced, causing Jack to spray his coffee all over the toast in front of him. He and Angela looked up at me, surprised that I would make a sex joke, and I shot them my best Evil Death Glare. Good, it still worked on them. "Just remember, I can still fire you." They laughed, and Booth turned to the stove, coming back with a frying pan. Angela pushed a plate toward me and poured me a cup of coffee, as Booth started plating whatever was in the pan.

"Booth's Special Cheesey Scrambled Eggs. Excellent remedy for hangovers." Jack just groaned, and said, "Dude, pile it on, then."

- - -

I finished my eggs, then gave Jack and Angela hugs before I went back to the bedroom to get ready. Eleven-thirty. Plenty of time to get ready and be at Parker's school in an hour-- it was only ten minutes by car. As I disengaged from Jack, he stuck his bandaged thumb up at me, and I pressed my own band-aid clad thumb against his, pushing slightly. Once in the bedroom, I pulled on some jeans and the deep red knit top I'd worn the night I cooked Mac & Cheese for Booth, and then decided my own socks were too thin for the clogs I wanted to wear. We were sure to be doing a lot of walking at the museum, and I wanted to be comfortable. I pulled out Booth's sock drawer, rummaging to find something that might not clash too badly with what I was wearing. My hands brushed something soft, and I saw a pair of red and pink striped socks. Cashmere, I thought-- I didn't know he was such a sybarite. As I pulled the socks out, though, I saw the edge of a box, and couldn't help but pull it out. All the time chastizing myself to put it back, leave it alone, I opened the box to see what was inside-- a pair of dangling earrings and a necklace in pewter, with intricately carved daisies, linked to one another the entire length of the necklace. Holding it up, I could tell it would rest just below my collarbones. My hands shook as I put it back in the box, closed the lid, buried it back under the socks. He must have bought it for me, but when? We had hardly been apart since this had all begun. I then heard the door shut, and Booth call my name.

"In the bedroom!" He tromped down the hallway, having already put on his favorite lace-up brown boots, as I bent at the side of the bed, digging for my clogs in the bag I'd dumped my shoes into.

"C'mon Bones, we're burning daylight!" he called, grabbing me around the waist and throwing me onto the bed. "Whatcha looking for?"

Glaring at him from the middle of the bed, I said, "My red clogs."

Taking in my outfit, he adopted an outraged tone, yelling, "To match MY socks?"

"They're warmer."

He solved my search by the expedient of picking up the duffel bag and shaking its contents onto the floor. Locating my clogs, he tossed them onto the bed with me, then jumped on top of me, pinning me down while he tickled my feet. "First you steal my heart, then you steal my t-shirts and boxers, now my socks. What next, woman?" I laughed, but looked at him seriously.

"Well, you stole my heart. As for the rest, well, it's not my fault you're such a fine example of manliness, and won't fit into my clothes." I leaned up and kissed him, then pushed him in the chest as I reached for my shoes. "Off of me. I need to finish getting ready." I grabbed my makeup kit, and went into the bathroom, leaving the door open. I had put on powder, and was applying mascara when Booth appeared behind me in the mirror, his hands behind his back. I did the other eye, shot him a wink, and looked for my favorite honey-flavored lipgloss, though I was then minded of Booth's comment about "salty honey" the other night and the subsequent events. Maybe I should go for a different flavor-- no telling what the smell would do to him, much less if I kissed him. Nah. If he decided he had to have me up against the fish tank at the aquarium, well, then, he just would. As I leaned in to apply the gloss, he smacked my rear end, causing me to jump, and dropped the wand in the sink. "Hey!" I yelled, glaring at him in the mirror.

"Couldn't resist." As I straightened, he moved behind me, and said "close your eyes." I did, and I felt his hands come around my neck, the weight of something cool and metal resting against my flesh. He then brushed the hair back from one ear, inserting an earring and repeating the motion on the other side. I opened my eyes-- he'd given me the pieces I'd found only minutes ago.

"They're beautiful," I said, my eyes tearing. "You're going to make my mascara run."

"Nah, Bones, I know you wear waterproof, just in case it rains while we're chasing a suspect."

He kissed my neck, swatted my rear end again, and left the bathroom, calling "let's go!" Following him down the hall, I tossed my lip gloss into my bag, unplugged my phone, and gathered up the mail that had made its way back onto the island. Reaching in to the coat closet, I pulled out one of his leather jackets and a dark plaid scarf, putting them on. I turned to see him mock-glaring, his hands on his hips.

"What can I say? I'm a kleptomaniac." He grinned, and reached past me for the green jacket he so often wore when he was being casual. Turning back to the table inside the door, he gathered his wallet, his FBI identification, and his keys. Reaching down, he adjusted his pants around one ankle. "Just the .22?"

"It's a casual day," he said, expression shifting to a serious one, as it so often did whenever we left to go out into the world.

Walking out to the car, I asked, "Where do you keep the guns, so I know where to keep Parker away from?"

He looked over, and nodded, opening my door, shutting it after I climbed in. Coming around, and settling into his own seat, he looked over and said "There's a .22 in a cash box in the hall closet, along with a baseball bat. There's a .45 in the kitchen, attached to the bottom of the sink with a magnet. There's another .22 in the living room, in another cash box, behind the TV. A Glock in the bathroom, under the tub near the drain, again with a magnet, and another one in the bedroom, under my side of the bed. The butt of the gun faces out, and it's in a latch that you can just pull it free from. And you saw the bat on the wall with the other sports stuff." His expression still serious as he started the car and pulled out into traffic, he said, "They're all loaded. Parker actually knows where they are, and knows to never, ever touch them. There are also hunting knives under the sink and the tub, and in the side table on your side of the bed. And you've seen the rifles on the wall in the living room, but they're not loaded. Shells are in the leftmost drawer in the kitchen."

"Parker's a smart kid," I said.

"He's seen me shot too many times to think that guns are toys, and none of his friends ever come to my place anyway, so I don't have to worry about them."

Looking over at him, I said, "I'll show him where I keep mine, later, and then we'll be one happy, gun-toting family."

"Where are yours, right now?" He asked.

"Cash box, in the bottom of the blue duffel." He exhaled, clearly wary of them having been left in my long-unoccupied apartment.

"Good Bones," he said, smiling at me, "always keep your friends close," and I smiled, adding,

"...your enemies closer, and your guns closest of all." He laughed out loud.

"My Bones. Anyone who thinks you have no sense of humor is an idiot."


	17. Chapter 17

17

17.

Parker ran out to the car before Booth had even come to a halt. But instead of running to Booth, he reached up to my door, clearly wanting me to get out. Opening the door, I said "Hey, Parker," as he pulled himself onto the step and grabbed the side of my seat.

I pulled him into my lap, and he yelled "Nemo, Dr. Bones!" I laughed, and stepped out of the car, slinging him under my arm as I opened the back door and swung him into the booster seat behind mine.

"Hey, buddy, let's get you strapped in and hit the road!" I said, pulling his backpack from him and settling him in the seat, pulling the buckles around him and snapping the clasps. As I was tightening the straps, he leaned forward and planted a wet kiss on my cheek.

Booth was laughing at Parker's antics, and cried "Eeew!" as Parker kissed me. I immediately bent forward and pulled Parker's shirt up, blowing a therbert onto his stomach as he squealed. Pulling his shirt back down down, I gave him a peck on the cheek, and retook my seat, Booth shutting both the doors and getting back behind the wheel. Pulling out from the space, Booth looked in the rearview mirror. "You eat yet, Parks?"

"No, not yet. We had snack, but that was forever ago!" Seems like the appetite ran in the family. Turning in my seat to look back at him, I asked him what he would like. After a lively debate over ice cream, pizza, and hot dogs, we settled that we'd get hot dogs at the seal tank outside the aquarium.

The afternoon passed quickly. Parker was curious, and quickly exhausted my knowledge of icthyology. Fortunately, Booth would divert his attention, and we could start all over again. He was particularly taken with the penguins, and ran rampant through the gift shop, before coming back with a half a dozen penguin-themed items in his arms. "Whoa, buddy. What's the rule?" said Booth, squatting down to look Parker in the eye.

"One for me, one for someone else," he murmured, smiling back at his father.

"So, pick two." Parker looked down, bit his lip as he pondered. Picking out a stuffed penguin that looked quite plush, and a kaleidescope that he explained had penguins "on icebergs, an' in water, an' on boats," he handed them over to his father.

"Ok, go put the rest back," Booth ordered, turning the boy back in the direction he'd come from. Parker scampered off, as we got in line to pay. "He's allowed to have one thing from the gift shop, but he has to pick something else to give away."

"That's a good habit," I replied, as the people in front of us finished paying, and we stepped up to the counter. The young woman behind the register pulled the items across the counter, looking up only after she'd tallied the items and Booth had handed her a credit card. "You're Temperance Brennan!" she exclaimed, and several other people turned to look over at the noise.

"She is!" someone else replied. A man in a suit jacket who'd been talking to the other gift shop cashier looked up, and walked over.

"Dr. Brennan," he said, extending his hand toward me. I looked at the identification hanging around his neck, and recognized the name.

"Dr. Strauss, nice to meet you. This is my fiance and partner, Seeley Booth." Booth turned, grinning ear to ear as he heard me call him his fiance in public for the first time. The men shook hands, and I said,

"Dr. Strauss is the Director of Educational Programs here," adding "he's a delphin researcher, too." Booth smiled, and turned back to sign the credit slip.

"Dr. Brennan, you should have told me you were coming! I would have arranged for a tour!" Booth was looking at me, one eyebrow raised, when Parker ran back, banging into his legs. Booth bent and scooped him up, and shushed him.

"Parks, can you say hell to Dr. Strauss?" He did, and they exchanged greetings.

"What kind of doctor are you?" he asked. The kid could give his father a run for his money when it came to interrogation.

"Dr. Strauss is a dolphin doctor, like I'm a bones doctor."

"So I should call him Dr. Dolphin, like I call you Dr. Bones, right," he asked, shooting us both that Booth smile, just thirty years younger. I was never going to be able to tell him no, either.

"But Dr. Brennan, surely you'll let us," Dr. Strauss began to say, as I grabbed his elbow and steered him out of the shop.

"I prefer to keep my charitable donations relatively private, Doctor," I said, lowering my voice. "I give to the aquarium because I think it serves an important educational role."

"But Dr. Brennan, you've made it possible to reduce our fundraising efforts by 30 for the last three years! You're our largest individual donor!" He was clearly a bit perplexed, but I'd never liked talking about how much money I'd made, much less given away, and I wasn't going to start feeling any differently about that any time soon.

"I appreciate it, and I understand, Doctor, but really, I'd rather not discuss it further." He subsided, and smiled as he looked over my shoulder. "Well, perhaps you'll at least let me arrange for front-row seats at the dolphin show the next time you visit?" Looking over my shoulder, I saw my Booths approaching, and smiled, turning back to him.

"That would be nice. I'll give you a call."

He shook my hand again, and walked away as Booth, Parker on his shoulders, finally caught up. "What was that about?"

"Oh, he just wanted to ask me about some ... research," I tried. Booth shot me a look, but didn't press. "Later," I mouthed.

- - -

When we got back to Booth's place, I helped Parker with his letters and numbers for school the next day, as Booth reheated some of the chicken soup, and served it up with two tall glasses of milk for them, a glass of the leftover Viongner for me. We took turns seeing who could make the most disgusting slurping noised while finishing our soup.

"Why aren't you having milk, Dr. Bones?" asked Parker. Oof. I hated drinking milk, but I couldn't very well say so. I shot Booth a "help!" look.

"Dr. Bones is drinking grape juice," he said, eyeing my wineglass.

"Can I have some?"

"Um," I said, "it's grape juice for grownups. Kind of sour, like pickles."

"I hate pickles!" And with that, his attention turned back to Booth. "Ice cream, Daddy?"

"Just a little, and…" Parker grinned.

"Don't tell your mother," he said, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

While Booth piled the soup bowls and spoons, I got out the Rocky Road and some chocolate syrup. Booth handed me more bowls and the scoop. "Two scoops okay?" He nodded, and I made Parker's bowl, drizzling the syrup over the top, then handed him the bowl. He started to dig in when Booth shot him a look.

"Thank you, Dr. Bones."

"You're welcome, Parker." I turned back and made Booth a five-scoop bowl, since I knew if I gave him less he'd just go back for more anyway, then gave myself a scoop of coffee and some more of the butterscotch sauce he'd bought.

Parker looked into my bowl. "Don't you like chocolate?"

Mouth full, I shook my head no. Booth frowned again, then said "Bub, don't ask people questions when their mouths are full."

"Sorry. But why don't you like chocolate?"

I swallowed, and smiled. "I like it, but I like coffee ice cream better. Besides, it means there's more for you and your father."

Parker just looked at me, before stating, matter of factly, "You're crazy. Chocolate ice cream is the best thing in the whole world."

After we'd finished dessert, and I'd taken a wet papertowel to Parker's chocolatey hands and face, I shot Booth a look.

"Hey, Bub, let's go in the living room, okay?"

He followed us into the living room, and crawled up onto the sofa into the space we'd left between us. Booth started.

"Parker, you know I've been working with Dr. Bones for a while now, right?"

He nodded. "She helps you catch the bad guys. And kicks ass."

Booth just sighed. "I have to watch my mouth around you better. Anyway, Dr. Bones has been my good friend for a while now, and sometimes when people are good friends, they also fall in love." Parker nodded, expression serious. "When Temperance was in the hospital, she and I discussed how we felt about each other, and agreed that we love each other. And sometimes, when people love each other, they get married. So, Dr. Bones and I decided we would get married, too."

Parker looked up at Booth, then over at me, before pulling my left hand over to him. "Daddy, I know what an engagement ring is," he said, rolling his eyes. "I saw it the other night when we were playing with Agent Frog." Booth looked gobsmacked, and I laughed. What an anticlimax.

"So are you going to move in, Dr. Bones? And are you and Daddy going to get a new house? And will I get my own room?"

I nodded. "Well, I'm going to live here for a while, and I'm going to sell my place a little later on. After that, we might look for someplace bigger, and we will definitely have a room for just you."

"Okay." Well, that was simpler than I'd thought it would be. Hopefully, this next part would go alright as well. I looked over his head at Booth, and took my turn.

"There's something else. Remember how I told you that I'm sick, and that I'm going to be going to the doctor's a lot?" He nodded. "Well, I have what's called cancer, and basically that means that I might be pretty sick for a while before I get better. But I have a really good doctor, and your Dad and I think I'm going to get better." I didn't know that, of course, but there was no use in telling him that. But he blindsided me.

"Are you going to die?" Shit. Shitshitshitshit. We hadn't discussed this part. I don't think Booth thought he'd really understood the concept of serious illness. Ah well, here goes, I thought.

"I might. I might not. We don't really know. I don't want to lie to you, some people do die when they have cancer, but not all of them, and there's a lot of strong medicine that can really help. My doctor's going to give me a lot of that strong medicine."

He looked up at me, then crawled into my lap and stood up to hug me. "You have to get better. My Daddy would miss you a lot if you went to Heaven."

"I know, Parker, that's why I'm going to get better. I'd miss your Dad too much otherwise."

"Even in Heaven?"

"Even in Heaven." He settled down in my lap, and Booth leaned over and kissed him on the head, then got up to put his backpack and homework back together.

"Dr. Bones, will you sing me a song?"

"What do you want to hear?"

"I don't know. Mommy always sings me something her Mommy used to sing her."

So, "Keep on Tryin'" it was. Since my Dad had first reminded me of the song, and Booth and I had sung it at the diner, I'd learned all the words, and it seemed that Booth had, too, because he joined in as he continued putting Parker's things back together.

"That was nice," said the small voice in my lap.

"My Dad used to sing that to me when I was little. He still does, sometimes.

"Am I going to meet him?"

"You sure will. He's going to be at the wedding, but he might be around this weekend because your grandmother and grandfather are coming to visit, and he wants to meet them too. But about the wedding… do you think you could help me with a really important job?"

His eyes alight, he squirmed to look up at me. "What!?"

"We need someone to hold on to the rings for us, and the rings are really important, because they're what show that two people are married."

"I can do it! I can!"

Booth allowed himself to sound doubtful. "I don't know, Bones. It's a lot of work…"

Parker bounced off my lap and ran over to Booth, colliding with his legs. "Daddy, I can too!"

Just then, the doorbell rang. Answering, I let Rebecca in as Parker ran over to tell her all about his important new job. "I'm sure you'll be great at it, Parker. Brent and I will clap extra hard when you're all done. Now, say goodnight to your dad and Temperance."

Parker ran back to Booth, who scooped him up for a hug and a kiss. Let down to the floor again, Parker came over to me, and tugged on my pants until I squatted to his level. Throwing his arms around my neck, he whispered in my ear. "I'm gonna ask God to make you better because my Daddy loves you so much."

"Thanks, Bub," I whispered back, and then he was gone and out the door with his mother. What a whirlwind that kid was.

Standing, I shot Booth a wry grin. "You are so in trouble when he starts liking girls."

He grinned. "Tell me about it. I'm doomed."

"We're doomed," I reminded him, causing him to smile all over again. I walked over and helped him finish putting the dishes in the dishwasher. "I like this—the cleaning up and putting things away and hanging out, and dancing around each other in the bathroom. We were pretty stupid, before."

"Very."

- - -

He brought the last of the wine back to the living room, and we finished it sitting next to one another, watching the stars bloom outside the window, he with his arm around my shoulder, playing with my hair. Catching myself nodding off, I gave him a light shove. "Let's go to bed. Jack 's going to be here by 8:15, and you have your meeting."

"Where do you want to meet before seeing your accountant?"

"Oh, here, Jack's going to drop me back afterward." He nodded agreement. "Are your parents going to call when they come in?"

"Mmm-hmm. I made reservations for 7 at a place Cam recommended—it's only two blocks from their hotel. I'll call your dad with the information?"

"Great, thanks."

I got up, tugging him up after me, and we made our way back to his bedroom. Our bedroom. Ours. It was starting to actually sink in, the _we_ thing, even though goodness knows I'd thought about it practically every day for at least the last year. But the fact that it had finally happened? It was dreamlike, surreal, the way our lives had become a rollercoaster of having the dark dealings and planning with and around the cancer, the calm and cheerful domestic moments together and with Parker, the quiet and tender moments when the two of us were completely alone, both an extension of and so much better than all our unspoken moments before, and the breathtaking, almost desperate lovemaking we'd been having. As much as I mock-grumbled about how energetic and passionate a lover he was, I needed to feel fully joined with him as much as he needed me, and I knew it would be a long time, if ever, before the longing I'd built up for him before we'd admitted our feelings would be assuaged.

We undressed in silence, and slid under the covers, moving toward one another at the same time. Turned on my side, my head on his chest and his arm below and around me, I sighed with contentment.

"You were really great with Parker. He took it well, I think."

"Booths, I can handle. The rest of the world, well… that's what you're for. But, he's a smart kid, and kids are pretty resilient. I just don't want to lie to him, or give him false hope."

"No, I think you said the right thing. If he has more questions, we'll deal with them then."

I voiced some of the thoughts I'd been having. "I like this 'we' thing. It sounds right."

He chuckled. "We've always been a 'we,' we just took a while to get here."

I laid a kiss over his heart. "You never left."

Hugging me closer, he replied. "You never questioned who I am." Turning, he pulled me into a kiss, then rolled atop me. Sliding my hands behind his head, I pulled up to kiss him, tracing his lower lip with my tongue. Our kisses deepened, and we showed each other again that we were 'we,' and that two bodies could, for a short while, occupy the same space.

- - -

Around midnight, I woke, thirsty. Standing at the island, I poured myself some ice water and gazed out the window, half-asleep still, watching the stars and the car lights shining. Warm chest against my back, he wrapped his arms around my waist. "You okay?"

I leaned back into his heat. "Fine, just thirsty." I put the glass down so I could return the hug, but he took the glass and took a sip before embracing me again, sinking to his knees to rest his head against my lower back. I was about to turn and ask him if he was alright when he turned his face to kiss me, and pushed an ice cube against my skin. I must have jumped five feet in the air, as he held on to me and stood slowly, dragging the ice along my spine as stood.

"Booth… just … don't." He pouted, so I kissed him, but then walked to the living room to stand in front of the window. He joined me again, standing behind me, and I said, "You have a better view than at my place."

"It's just the street."

"But you can see the stars, watch the cars go by. Something to watch instead of just . . . thinking."

We watched as a car pulled up across the street, the passenger door opening to illuminate a young couple. Music spilled from the door, the night quiet enough that we could hear the lyrics as the car's two occupants clearly avoided saying goodnight, talking and exchanging glances. I realized with a smile that the song was the one we'd danced to in Aurora, as did Booth, who pulled me around and took a step away as he pulled my right arm to his shoulder.

"Sound familiar?"

"Mmm-hmm . Except this time you won't have to cut in on Charlie, the sheriff, and a cannibalistic town doctor."

"Good thing, too. You weren't naked the last time. I'dve had to shoot the whole bar. Bad publicity."

"Very bad," I laughed, as he twirled and spun me, our steps surer together than they'd been the first time, though even then we'd moved together well. Content to let him lead, I enjoyed his strong arms around me. He wasn't the tallest man I'd ever dated, but he was the strongest, the most perfectly proportioned. I had long ago memorized the language his body spoke in work situations. The way the muscles between his shoulderblades would clench before he threw a punch. The way his jaw would clench and the muscles near his ears tic when he couldn't immediately solve or save something. The way his weight would shift, his thighs and buttocks bunching, right before he took off after a suspect, or kicked down a door or kicked a gun out of their hand. The way the skin would crawl on the back of his neck in the interrogation room, when some murderous pervert would proudly and in disgusting detail confess his crimes.

Every one of those movements were ones that passed so quickly that I wondered if anyone but I had noted them. Perhaps he'd had partners in the army who'd spent nearly every day with him, who could read what he was going to do in the split second that his body spoke, but I wasn't sure.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked, twirling me back to him to come against his chest.

"I just like watching you move. You're graceful, and strong. And you have a cute butt." He laughed and dipped me, my bare foot wrapping behind him, tracing up the back of his calf, the contact electric. It had been electric the first time we'd danced, too, though then I'd been unwilling to admit it.

He pulled me closer as the music ended, the notes drifting in the air and a short silence before the next song from the car's radio started. We slowed our steps in accord as the tune made its way into the room, and I settled my head on his shoulder.

It was an older song, and I wasn't the only lovesick teenage who'd probably committed it to heart, but that didn't detract from its meaning. But for the first time, it took on a different meaning, one not of longing, but completion. I sighed, and ran the hand at his waist up his back, pulling him closer as we moved.

I murmured the lyrics into his chest. "_I get so lost, sometimes_," and his hand tightened in my hair, as he swallowed, and responded, "_but whichever way I go, I come back to the place you are_."

I'd always known he was trustworthy, safe, and that he knew who I was when I often didn't, didn't want to, couldn't handle what it might mean. I wondered, though, if he'd doubted during any of those long glances we'd shared, whether I was looking at him with anything but love and trust and a desire to drown myself in his brown eyes. I looked up at him, and I knew at least as he bent to kiss me that he saw it now.

The last lines of the song washed over us as he pulled a blanket from the couch to the floor, and we sank down together.

"_So much wasted, and this moment keeps slipping away/I get so tired, of working so hard for our survival/I look to the time with you to keep me awake and alive_."

As I drifted to sleep, my thoughts echoed the song's final line. "_I am complete_."

- - -

The doorbell rang, and I started upright, untangling myself from Booth's arms on … oh, the living room floor. The clock on the microwave read 8:15, and I could now hear the alarm, beeping very faintly, down the hall. Grabbing another throw from the couch, I wrapped it around myself, and flipped the part of the blanket I'd just vacated over his waist, morning erection firmly evident.

"Wha?"

"It's Jack. It's morning. We fell asleep."

"Crap."

"Hold on, Jack!" I called, pulling the throw around me a bit more securely. Ah well, he'd already heard Booth and I having sex, bedhead wasn't going to affect his opinion of me at this point.

I opened the door, noting the tray of coffees and the bakery bag in his hand. Taking in my appearance, he laughed and said "You're lucky Angela and her camera aren't with me. Where's Booth?"

A grumble rose up from behind the sofa, and Jack walked over to peer around it.

"Do you _mind_," Booth growled, as he pulled the throw a little closer around him, then pushed himself to standing. Jack laughed again, then went over to the island and set the things he'd brought down. Just as Booth had regained his feet, the phone rang, and Booth jumped a mile high, dropping the blanket he'd wrapped around him. "Fuck."

"You can say that again," I laughed, and continued. "In fact, you can do that again."

He reddened, but hardened anyway as he saw me lick my lips and leer at him. Jack's eyes widened.

"Um, okay, Dude, not letting you within a _mile_ of Angela ever again. I'll get the phone."

He picked up. "Booth residence. No, this is Jack Hodgins. Oh, no sir, I was just picking up Dr. Brennan. He's . . . uh . . . in the shower. I'll let him know. You're welcome."

Turning, he looked in Booth's general direction, but refused to meet his eye, as Booth did likewise.

"Your meeting moved to 9:45."

"Thanks."

I laughed—I couldn't decide who was more uncomfortable, Jack or Booth. "I'm going to take a shower. You two . . . compare notes or something."

"Bones!"

"Dr. Brennan!"

Their outraged yells followed me down the hall.

- - -

Ten minutes later I entered into the bedroom and slipped on a sweater, a favorite peasant skirt of mine, and a pair of Booth's red and white striped cashmere socks to wear under my favorite brown boots. Putting on my new necklace and earrings, I returned to the bathroom to put my wet hair into a bun, take my morning drugs, and put on a hint of makeup for Zack.

They were sitting at the island, Booth apparently having found a pair of sweatpants, and were drinking coffee and talking about something animatedly when I entered the room. I sat on the stool they'd left open between them.

"Bones, did you know Hodgins here has Capitals season tickets?"

"Why would you need tickets? You can visit any open session any day the Capitol Building is open. And if you really need to meet with someone, I give fairly frequently to several congressmen, and could always call their office for you to set up a meeting."

"Washington Capitals, Dr. B., they're a hockey team."

I stuck my tongue out at both of them, pulled up the remaining coffee in the tray, and opened the lid. "Black, two sugars. Booth's not the only one who knows how you like your coffee."

I smiled over the rim of my cup, and pulled the bakery bag over. "What's left that you two haven't already eaten?"

"Chocolate, almond, apricot, and a sticky bun."

"You must have cleaned out the place, Jack."

"Well, I thought we might bring the sticky bun and almond one to Zack. He likes sticky buns. He never drank coffee, though. Always water with that guy, or Mountain Dew."

Reaching into the bag, I pulled out the chocolate croissant, and alternated bites with sips of coffee. "Bones, maybe I wanted the chocolate one! And you don't like chocolate, anyway!" Booth put on his pouty puppy dog face.

"Don't give me that look. You probably already had three things before I came out. Plenty of time to take it if you really wanted it."

"Don't believe him Dr. B., I brought three of those chocolate croissants, and he already had two."

"Pig," I shot at him, taking another sip of my coffee.

"Oink. Just call me Jasper."

Leaning forward, I kissed him, then got up from the stool, brushing the crumbs from my face. "Ready, Jack?" He sat there for a moment, looking sad, and I stuck my thumb out at him. I'd taken the Scooby-Doo bandage off and replaced it with a Batman one I'd found in the bathroom. Looking up, he caught my motion, smiled, and pressed his own against mine. Booth, looking on, said nothing, but his mouth quirked a bit in the "I'm not going to say anything or I will ruin the moment" moue I'd seen before. Patting Jack on the back, I said, "Let me get my bag and a jacket." I pulled the jacket and scarf I'd borrowed yesterday out, and put them on, turning back to get my phone from the charger in the kitchen. The two of them were standing up, thumbs pressed together. They broke apart as I came back into the kitchen, and I ignored them, pretending I hadn't seen.

"Hey, what if I wanted to wear those?" Booth whined.

"Tough. I'll buy you new ones. But it's not like you don't have others."

"Klepto."

I grinned, and said, "They smell like you." I pulled him in for a kiss, and said, "Go shower, stinky. You'll miss your meeting. And, give my best to Sam. We should be back around, eleven? I'll see you then." He kissed me back, and I grabbed Jack's arm, threading my arm through his and tugging him toward the door.

"Ok?"

"Sure. Let's do it."

- - -

The drive over was quiet, and we didn't talk much except as I told Jack where to turn. Breaking the silence, I said, "I've never been in a Maserati before."

"Nice, huh? It's my 'I need to feel strong and manly' car. I thought I'd want it for today's visit to Zack, but now I'm glad I took it since I had to come face to face with what Ange has been ogling for three years. I am never inviting him over to swim in the pool, you know."

I laughed. "You think you were surprised. I practically fell over the first time I saw him without his clothes on. Only the fact that I was in the middle of yelling at him for not calling me after he'd 'died' kept me from passing out, right then and there."

"I don't think I heard that story." Knowing an opening when I heard one, I told him the basic story, including the key in the fake rock, the beer hat, the outrage and then shock on Booth's face as he realized he'd stood up, dripping naked, to yell at me. I left out some of the more personal parts of the conversation, trying to keep it light for Jack's sake. He laughed, as I'd hoped he would, and then told me an amusing story about the time he and Angela were interrupted in his butler's pantry. By the butler.

"Take this left," I said, indicating the driveway to the hospital.

"This isn't the state..."

"No," I said. "It's a private hospital."

"But I thought," he started.

"Well, even though it was a hospital, it was still... too much for Zach. I petitioned for permission to have him moved here, since they have a separate building and a closed-in section of the grounds for ... violent offenders, and since he'd ... had no prior record..." I trailed off.

"His family can't afford..." Jack started again, as he pulled into a parking space. Looking over at me, realization dawned. "You..."

"Yes."

"I'll split the bill with you. He was ... is ... my friend, too." I was going to argue, but I knew it was something that Jack really wanted to do, to somehow take some responsibility for what had happened.

"It's actually a spendthrift trust. I'll have Bob send you the information, unless you've someone you'd prefer he send it to. There's enough principal to grow interest for ten years, but I was going to fund it again after I finish this book. His family just calls Bob when they want to come out, and he sends them the tickets and books the hotel. They ... think it's something everyone at the Jeffersonian set up, that I just collected contributions and set up the paperwork. There's also a small amount set aside for discretionary disbursements to Zack, incidentals, personal supplies, and the like. He just makes a list, the hospital calls Bob, and he takes care of the rest."

We got out of the car and walked the rest of the way in silence, as I pointed to the building where we were headed. It was a nice place-- I knew Zack had missed the woods in Michigan where his family had lived, so I'd looked for someplace with lots of trees on this grounds. Booth had actually suggested this place, when I'd broached the subject to him, and it was just the thing-- there were still signs that it was, in many ways, a prison to all the people who lived there, if you knew where to look, but the warm brick of the buildings, the wide windows in the rooms, and the sun dappling through the trees on wooden benches and chairs around the grounds made it livable. I wondered if Jack had noticed the guard tower half-hidden along the driveway as we'd entered and passed through the main gate, and hoped he hadn't.

Entering the wide front foyer of Zack's building, I walked over to the security desk. "Dr. Brennan, nice to see you again," said the guard. "He's in the sunroom."

I pulled Jack forward. "Officer Reynolds, this is Dr. Jack Hodgins. Jack works with me at the Jeffersonian, and is good friends with Dr. Addy."

"He'll be glad to see you, Dr. Hodgins. Would you mind giving me a photo identification so I can put a copy in the file with the list Dr. Addy's allowed visitors? Dr. Brennan, here's the form."

Jack handed over his license, and looked curiously as I began filling out the paperwork I'd been handed. "What's that?"

"I'm his legal guardian, so I have to approve whoever comes to see him and put them on the list. It's one of the conditions of his transfer here."

"When did that happen?" Jack looked astonished.

"A month afterward, when I petitioned to move him here."

Jack put his hand on my wrist, and I looked up. He pulled me into a hug, saying "thank you," as he squeezed me. His eyes were watering. Just then the guard came back, and slid Jack's identification back across the counter.

"All set," I said, sliding the paper back to the officer and handing Jack the card.

--

Jack was taken aback when we passed through three more locked doors on the way to the sunroom, showing our IDs and being checked against the computer every time, and was quiet as we passed the final checkpoint and stood outside the sunroom. Zack was sitting with his back to us, facing the window, and seemed to be reading something. He was dressed in his regular clothes-- one of the reasons I liked this place, they let the residents try to appear as normal as possible.

"Zack-o," said Hodgins, his voice hoarse. Zack started, stood up, turned around, a look of shock on his face quickly shading to joy. "Hodgins," he said. Pushing Jack into the room, we walked over, and I gave Zack a hug. Letting go, I could see Jack was at a loss for words, so I pushed Zack toward him, and said, "Kiss and make up. I'm going to get some more coffee. Zack, a Mountain Dew?" He nodded, and I left the room to let them get on with saying hello.

When I returned, they were laughing and talking about something in the chemical engineering article Zack had been reading when we came in. I'd made sure Zack's scholarly subscriptions continued to be sent to my attention at the Jeffersonian, and brought him the new issues the next week. He was allowed all the pens and paper and books his room would hold, as well as a calculator, so I'd encouraged him to continue some of the more abstract mathematical research he'd been working on, before. He'd hesitated. "No one will want to publish the research of a ..." he'd said, looking down.

"Dr. Addy, we'll burn that bridge when we come to it. I can always pretend I've developed a keen interest in higher maths, and publish them under my name." He'd blinked, and changed the subject, but the next time I'd come, he'd shown me some formulae he was working on.

I sat, and watched them enjoying each other's company, glad that Jack had come. There was still a bit of tension in the air, but there probably always would be. What mattered, though, was that Zack knew he wasn't alone. Turning to me, Zack's expression became somber. "Agent Booth called me Saturday, to tell me why ..."

"I'd missed our visit last week. He told me. Thank you for the flowers, they're entirely _a propos_."

Zack's smile twisted. "My therapist actually said something that made me think of it."

I patted his hand. "Did Booth tell you?"

Zack nodded. "Stage three, 5 lymph node clusters?" We discussed my treatment plan, my impressions of Dr. Thornton, and talked about the research behind the regimen I'd chosen. Jack seemed to have been doing some reading, and interjected pertinents about possible side effects and efficacy results. Zack, looking at my left hand, which I'd left resting on his arm, looked back up at me. "He didn't tell me about that part, though."

Looking at my ring, I smiled. "It was a totally cliched deathbed confession," I told him.

"Right up until the part when Angela found them asleep together while Dr. B. was still in the ICU, and woke them up with all her jumping up and down."

Zack smiled, snorted a little, then said "She bet me 50.00 that it would come out during a fight in the lab. I told her it would be a private moment. Looks like I won."

"Zack-- even you?! Was everyone betting on us?" I asked, somewhat exasperated.

"I think the Middle Eastern department said it would be on an overnight trip, and Naomi in Paleontology said they'd bet on a crime scene. The FBI Tech lab picked the Hoover Building, but I knew that wouldn't work, because you are only there when you are interrogating suspects." I just sighed.

The rest of the visit was nice. Zack went back to his room and brought out his most recent research notebook, and he and Hodgins immediately bent their heads over it, discussing the formulae Zack had created, and debating the next step in language that went over even my head. At 10:30, my phone alarm buzzed, and one of the guards knocked on the door. Zack was allowed a visitor every day, but only for an hour at a time. We stood up to leave, and Zack and Hodgins stood, clasping arms. I gave Zack a kiss on the cheek, and before he could ask, said, "I'll be working half days after next week. I'll see you again this time next week, and then we'll go back to Sunday mornings, OK?"

"I'll come too," said Jack. Zack's face lightened, his light blue eyes clearing. "Thank you."

--

Dropping me at home, I offered Jack the bathroom. "Are you going back to work?" He was, and came in with me, walking down the hall.

I heard Booth's voice behind me. "What have I told you about leaving the door unlocked?" he asked, running his fingers through his hair, exasperated.

"We just walked in!"

"Bones, safety doesn't wait for you to put your stuff down inside the door!"

"Fine." I walked around him, shut the door and locked it. "Jack's in the bathroom."

"How was the visit?"

"It went well. Zack was really happy to see him. Me too, but I'm old cap by now."

"Old hat, Bones. Old hat." Laughter burst from the hallway as Jack returned.

"Some things never change. I'm going to get back, I'll see you later?" We nodded. Jack gave me a peck on the cheek, then clapped Booth on the arm, and unlocked the door, opening it and walking out.

"He looks happier. Lighter, or something."

"He needed to see him. He guessed about ... the hospital, and wants to split it with me."

Looking down at me, Booth said, "Let him. You can't save the world all by yourself, you know. Besides, you owe me a new jacket, now that that one smells all girly and stuff."

I laughed, so glad that we were still able to tease and keep things light most of the time. I needed it, to keep me from mulling. Walking over to my "office," I opened the computer and booted up my email. "How was your meeting?" I asked, as I started scrolling through the messages. Nothing that couldn't wait, except for an email from Russ.

"Fine. Cullen asked Cam to come over, too, and we discussed some of the mechanics. Sully's actually going to start going out in the field with me when I go back in, and will cover anything that comes up in the next week. It was interesting-- he and Cam seemed to get along really well."

I looked up. "They've met before."

"Yeah, but Cam was wearing that black dress today, the one with the scoop in the back?"

"That is a nice dress," I smiled. "Was she wearing that perfume that used to make Zack's eyes glaze over?"

He barked a laugh. "She was! Sul's eyes didn't quite glaze over, but he did definitely notice, let's say. He offered to give her a ride back, since she'd walked over."

"And you're OK with this?"

"I am," he said. "It's not even that weird."

I looked up. "I'm glad. I don't like the idea of you going out there without any backup. I mean, I know you've worked on your own for years, but I still prefer knowing that someone has your back." I looked back at the screen. "Russ and Amy and the girls are going to be in town Sunday and Monday, Hallie has an appointment Monday. Do you think we'll have time to maybe introduce them to your parents?"

"Why not? Parker has a soccer game Sunday afternoon after Mass. Invite them, and then we can all go get pizza or something. We can all watch Parker make game MVP again." I typed out a response to Russ' email, saying aloud, "I'll tell them to meet us here at 12." Shutting down the computer, I walked over to the sofa, sat down. "I was thinking about wedding stuff. I'm a little worried about publicity, with all that's been going on. My publisher said they'd gotten in thousands of donations already. We can't do anything about the church, but, have you thought about a reception? Do you want to even bother?"

He flopped down beside me, arm around my shoulder. "Of course I do. I want to dance with my wife in front of the whole wide world! I just . . . there's a lot to plan. Reception hall, caterer, music, flowers, I suppose I have to check if my tux still fits, it's been a few years..."

"You have a tux?"

"Yeah. Undercover operations don't wait while you get fitted at the rental place."

I thought. "What about Hodgins' place?"

He paused, looked at me. "It's an awful lot to ask."

"I bet you a blow job they offer. I win, I give you a blow job." He looked shocked.

"What?"

"A blow job, fellatio. Surely you know what they are?"

"Bones!" he said, clearly shocked. "I know what they are, but..."

Shifting so I was straddling his lap, I leaned in so that my lips were right above his. "You haven't let me do _anything_, and quite frankly, I am more than a bit irritated with you. Did you honestly think I was merely enjoying my milkshake all those times at the diner? Sometimes, Booth, a milkshake is more than a milkshake." While he was still gasping like a fish, I grabbed my phone and called Angela.

"Yeah, hi Ange. No, Jack's on his way back now. It was nice. You should come the next time. Listen, I was wondering. Do you have any ideas for the rest of this wedding stuff? Like, music, flowers, that kind of thing? I mean, you've already done it once, so I'll defer to your expertise... Really? Are you sure? He won't mind? No, it would be lovely, it's a lovely place from what I've seen, and..." I listened. "What about the rest? You do? And the... Ok, let's make a list tomorrow while we're out with Caroline at brunch, and maybe we can see about your friend if we find a dress and there's time. Ok-- well, why not come by here at 10, and then we'll go by the hotel to pick up Booth's mother. Good. See you then."

"I win," I grinned. "She insisted. Said they have a ballroom that opens onto a paved terrace, that if it's nice out, we can put up a tent, and that his cook will take care of the food. I'll let you boys figure out what you want to eat. She's going to ask her dad about music, and she's friends with a florist in Georgetown who she's going to call."

Booth still sat there, apparently still so shocked that I had used the phrase "blow job" that he was speechless. Good, maybe I could get his pants unzipped before he got all caveman on me again and turned me into jello. Leaning forward to kiss him, undid his belt buckle, and got his pants unzipped before he came out of his daze.

"What," he started to say, as I slid off his lap to kneel in front of the sofa and tugged his pants down. Taking him in my hand, I looked up at him and purred,

"Collecting my winnings."

- - -

Fortunately, Booth's usually quicksilver reflexes were still a little sluggish as I slipped my thumb and forefingers around the base of him, my other fingers reaching down to tickle him lightly. His scrotum tightened noticeably, and his penis stiffened as I contemplated where to begin. I was never going to fit him all the way into my mouth-- but I prided myself on my technique, and wasn't about to let a little thing like such a big thing get in the way of doing a job well.

Tightening my thumb underneath him slightly, I began at the tip, deciding I would work my way down. I ran my tongue over his head, feeling the smooth skin on my tongue. He gasped a little, threaded his fingers in my hair. I slipped him into my mouth, puffing my cheeks a little to take in as much of him as I could, my lips only lightly closed around him. When I'd reached my limit, and he hit the back of my soft palate, I sucked in a little, pressing my lips around him, and licked the underside of him with my tongue, as I increased the pressure with my cheeks. Sliding away from him a bit, I brought my tongue over his tip again, more firmly, then slid back down the length of him. I moved the hand I'd initially steadied him with, and moved to cup him with my palm, while I supported myself against the seat cushion with my other arm.

"Bones," he wheezed, as I alternated a few fast and slow strokes along his length, before increasing both the speed and the amount of suction I was using. His fingers spasmed in my hair. I let him out of my mouth, and grasped him again in my hand, rubbing my thumb lightly over the tip, and licked the length of him firmly, then returned to kiss him along his shaft as my thumb continued to caress him. He smelled spicy and musky, and he was hot and firm and slick in my mouth as I took him in again, and began to move him in and out of my mouth with firm suction and a slow speed I would gradually increase once I could feel he was close.

"Unnhhh," he groaned, as I continued my ministrations, then "Boooones," as I blew out my cheeks around him before sucking them in again. I had sometimes considered this part of the job a perfunctory thing, necessary to get men ready for sex, but Booth had already proven that he didn't consider it a necessary part of the experience. I was enjoying listening to his breathing become irregular, and the smell of him was strongest here, though it was the same as the scent I so enjoyed in his jackets, on his pillows, from him. He didn't try to push my head down, either, which was a difference from the other men I'd been with, though I could tell he was having a hard time not bucking against me. His consideration, and quite frankly, his amazing endowment made me tremble a little, and I felt myself grow wet. I smiled as I ran my tongue under him again, slightly increasing the speed and pressure, since his harsh breathing was becoming louder, then I squeezed his full and heavy scrotum lightly as I sucked him harder. Withdrawing slightly, I rubbed my tongue against his tip more firmly than before, increasing the suction even more as I let my lips slide along his length to the tip, before quickly pulling him into my mouth again, harder and faster than before. "Ah, Bones!" he groaned, so I did it again, three times, four, and then he had pulled me away from him by the shoulders.

Pushing me to the floor, he pushed up the peasant skirt I'd been wearing, and ripped off my underwear as he pushed his pants down further and grunted, "I have to be... in you ... now." Without further preamble, his arms came down on either side of my shoulders, and he pushed into me to the hilt.

"Ah!" I cried, unable to help myself.

He lowered his upper body toward me, sliding one arm under my shoulders as the other went to cradle my hips. He thrust again, and again, which each thrust gasping, "Bones... can't ... get ... enough," causing me to cry as I arched against him, struggling to keep up with him as he separated from me only long enough to plunge into me again, all his weight crashing into me as I tried to meet him. The friction between us and the force of his entering me was causing my own tension to build, and he pulled my hips slightly toward him to change his angle slightly. With his next thurst, he rubbed against my G-Spot, and I yelled out with the spike it sent through me. He slowed his pace even further, and wiggled the head of his penis against the spot again, as I squealed. He repeated the motion again, then varied his pace in an uneven tempo that made it impossible for me to keep up with him. I was limp against the arm that was holding my head off the floor, and my voice was completely gone-- I could only pant with a voiceless squeak every time he completed a thrust. Finally, though, I could feel him pulse slightly, and with a shout, he came, thrusting a few more times as the force of his orgasm pulled him forward. His arms were shaking, and I sank downward as he gradually released me, falling on top of me, his lips next to my ear.

I licked my lips, tried to speak, let out a squeak. I swallowed, tried again, failed. He slid an arm back under me, and rolled to his back, taking me with him as he lower body disengaged from me. As he hauled me over until my head was resting on this chest, my useless body rolling onto its side and stopping against him, he reached over with the hand not grasping me and pulled my utterly nonresponsive arm across his chest, clasping it in his hand. I once again tried to make my voice work, but gave up when nothing came out besides a slight whine.

"Whoo," he exhaled. "Whoo."

I struggled to push myself up, then was pulled back down. "No." I tried again. "What?"

Clearing my throat, and willing something besides a "_I've never had so much sex in my life_" whimper to leave my throat, I croaked out, "can't miss ... meeting with Bob ... and parents."

"It's only 11:45," he groaned.

I managed to make it up this time, and flopped forward toward the couch, my hand coming into contact with my phone only by sheer luck. Dialing "2," my hands shaking, I waited, panting.

"Bren?" said the voice on the other end of the line.

I managed to squeak out "Ange, wakeup call, 1?" before Booth grabbed me around the waist, took the phone away from me, and said "Thanks, Ange," before hanging up. He hauled me around to face him, kneeling, and he hauled me upright, kicking off his pants as he went. He was already growing again. I really needed to report him to whatever the proper scientific body was for the study of limitless sexual stamina-- that was, if I ever got my voice back. Maybe they took email submissions. Slinging me over his shoulder, and picking up my phone with one hand, Booth began to jog back to the bedroom as I weakly swatted his bare behind.

"What? I'll make sure you get at least an hour nap."

- - -

Thanks to Ange's timely wakeup call, not to mention her totally rude snickering, I was able to get another shower and dry my hair in enough time to make our appointment with Bob. I really liked him-- Hodgins' accountant had recommended him to me, and his advice so far had been excellent, including assisting me in retaining a lawyer to handle the real estate, trust establishment, and other matters Bob wasn't authorized to handle. He and Seeley exchanged some sports chitchat while I filled out the paperwork giving Seeley full joint signatory powers over all my accounts, and then inquired as to what the near future held. After discussing the marriage and my diagnosis, I gave him Jack's number, explaining about the Zack situation.

"Zack's fine, now that Jack is involved, and we should shift the corpus of the inter vivos for Zack to the spendthrift, anyway."

"Do you want to shift any assets to the testamentary trusts, and should I coordinate the rest of this with Alan?" Seeing Booth's look of confusion, he explained, "Alan is Temperance's lawyer."

"No, not right now. I don't mind paying taxes on what's left in the estate-- the foster system did what it could for me, despite everything. There will be plenty to satisfy any taxes, even if the real estate isn't sold."

"Bones, real estate?"

"Yes. I bought Amy and Russ a house and my dad, too, as well as the houses on either side of them. They're rental property trusts-- they get the rent after taxes through the trust, and get to pick their next door neighbors. When I die, the estate can decide what to do with them."

Bob pulled out some statements, duplicates apparently, and handed them to us over the desk. "Why don't we just go through these item by item. If you need to leave, we can meet again."

I bent my head, pretending to read my statements, but in truth, I'd reviewed them online a few days ago, and had pretty much made up my mind what I wanted to do. I found myself nervous as to Booth's reaction-- I'd never hid the fact that I was compensated well for my books and my work, but I'd also never volunteered any actual numbers. He did know how much it had cost to build that bridge after we'd closed the case with Andy, but he'd thoughtfully never mentioned it again. Looking over, I saw he was slowly reading each page, his face set in the look of concentration he got when processing a lot of information in a very short time. Flipping through the report, which first detailed my business investments, then the real estate, then the bank accounts and the personal and charitable trusts I'd established, his expression never wavered. Coming to the end, he flipped back to one or two sections he'd marked with dogears, then put down the statement and looked over at me, a quirk at the edge of his mouth.

"I may have to start calling you Moneybags, Bones." Turning to Bob, and flashing him his "_I'm a real man and so are you but you'll find this smile charming anyway smile_," he said, "How soon can you convince her that a '67 Mustang is an excellent investment?"

We laughed, then settled down to business. Once Booth got Bob to explain a few financial terms to him, he made some good suggestions about re-arranging the trusts for my family and Parker, as well as who should be trustees, that I was happy to agree to. At about three-thirty, my stomach growled over the coffee I'd been drinking, and Booth barked a laugh as he heard it.

"Hungry there, Bones?"

"I wouldn't be, if there'd been time to have lunch," I shot back. I gave him what I hoped was my new and improved look, the "_Seeley Booth, if you don't stop it I will never sleep with you again as much as we'd both miss it Evil Death Glare._" It actually worked-- he cringed a little, even. Hah. I was back.

Bob, clearly missing the subtext, said, "Well, the only thing left to discuss is the charities."

Turning back to Bob, and ignoring Booth for the moment, I said, "Well, I just want to add the medical center and the D.C. chapter of the Cancer Society to the list. You can endow them in the same amounts as the Jeffersonian and Amnesty International." Booth, listening, nodded, as he flipped back to the relevant part of the statement. Bob made a few notes, turned to his computer, and typed and printed an authorization sheet reflecting our conversation. I signed it, then pushed it over to Booth. He shot me a quizzical look.

"You have to sign, too. It's your money now, too, that's what all the paperwork at the start was for."

His jaw dropped, and he actually turned white. "Bones, I just thought that was power of attorney stuff. Not... are you sure?"

Leaning over the chair to grab his hand, I looked him in the eye and said, "You're my partner. In everything. The good stuff, too, not just the getting shot at, kidnapped, and being tortured by criminals stuff. Everything." He squeezed my hand, and blinked. Clenching his jaw, and leant forward to sign the paperwork.

--

On the way back to the car, Booth tugged the hand he was holding, and pulled me over to a bench along the sidewalk, pushing me down until I sat. He still looked a little shaky, having finally realized what I'd meant when I said I was "quite comfortable." He looked down at me, seriously, and swallowed before saying, "Temperance, that's a lot of money to a gambler."

I put the hand he wasn't grasping onto for dear life onto his chest, as high as I could reach from where I was sitting. "You haven't touched a chip or a pair of dice since Parker was born, and even if I . . . leave . . . you still won't. I know you. I trust you. I love you, you incredibly infuriating alpha male, so knock it off with the insecurity thing. Look at it this way. I'm always right, aren't I?"

He laughed. "Actually, you are."

"So if you won't trust yourself, won't you at least trust me?"

"I ... just don't want people to think ... that," he started, and I cut him off.

"That I had to pay you to marry me, because I piss off everyone else?"

"Bones, Jesus, that's not..."

"Seeley, you're being dumb. The only people who might possibly care are people who don't know you, don't know _us_. But if it makes you feel any better, I could just give away all the money that's not already in trusts before we get married."

"You mean that, don't you?"

Pushing him back just far enough to allow myself space to stand and wrap an arm around his waist, I looked up at him as I put my other arm around his neck. "Of course I do. I would work in a fast-food restaurant flipping burgers for the rest of my life, as long as I had you."

"Mmm. Burgers," he grinned, the color starting to come back to his face. My stomach chose to growl at that moment, and he laughed. "C'mon Piggy, let's get some food into you. I don't want to explain to my mother why you fainted from hunger before dinner."


	18. Chapter 18

18

18.

We returned home, tossing our things on the hallway table. "Do I have time for a shower and change?"

"I haven't heard from them yet, but the reservation's at seven. Is your Dad coming here, or meeting us there?"

"The hotel."

"Let me call my dad's cell." He dialed, waited. "Hi, Dad. Oh good, how is it? How was your trip?" He listened, smiling at me. "Well, Max is meeting us at the hotel, so why don't we come up to your room a little early, maybe 6:15? Good? Yeah, Parker has a game Sunday after church, but I figured the guys could go to the new car exhibit at the Jeffersonian tomorrow while the chicks go shopping."

He turned to grin at me just in time to catch Parker's stuffed penguin in the face. "Hey! No, just Bones, taking umbrage at being called a chick. Okay, see you later, love you too."

"You have an hour and a half to make yourself presentable."

"Casual, or dressy?"

"Dressy."

"Will you call my dad, just to confirm? I could use a short nap." I walked down the hall, stepping into the bathroom to take my afternoon dose before returning to the bedroom, shedding my clothes as I went. The recent events were catching up with me, and though I was convinced in my heart that Booth and I would do well no matter what, the prospect of meeting the religious parents of someone who'd nearly been killed several times because of me was daunting. I knew Booth would stand up for me if it came to it, but the lonely 15-year-old in me was still worried about how things would go.

The door cracked open, and Booth moved into the room. Squatting by the bed, he said "Your dad's all set. Are you okay?"

I nodded, stroked his face. "Fine. A little tired, a little nervous at meeting your parents." His forehead wrinkled in concern, and he bent forward to kiss me.

"They'll love you, really. Or I'll arrest them. Forty-five minutes?"

"Yes, please."

I woke as he later opened the door, smelling of shampoo and Old Spice and Seeley. I smiled at him, and pointed at my lips, puckering up. Laughing, he came and obliged, then hauled me out of the bed.

"Anything need ironing?"

"Yes, please. There's a purple silk dress in the closet that could use the steam setting."

Fifteen minutes later, I stood in front of the mirror, contemplating how to do my hair. I wanted to say he liked it curly.

"Seeley? Straight or curly?"

"Curly! Please!"

Straightening it was actually easier, but it did look nice curly. Setting the dryer on low, I flipped my hair over and set to scrunching. Then, after spraying on my favorite perfume, I put on my makeup. For Booth's mother, who was probably a very well-mannered lady if Booth was any test, I put on foundation, grey eyeliner, silver eye shadow, and curled and coated my eyelashes with black mascara. I rubbed in some cream blush, then contemplated my lipstick options. Rose gloss, I decided. Spraying my hair lightly with hairspray, I returned to the bedroom to see my dress hanging, perfectly pressed.

"Thank you!" I called, as I dug out the blush pink colored bra and panty set I'd bought the last time Angela and I had gone shopping. New underwear was lucky underwear, I decided. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rolled on my stockings, then got up to find the purple suede shoes I'd bought to match the dress. I pulled out a pale blue pashmina Angela gave me last Christmas and a silver clutch. Wandering back to the bathroom to get my lip gloss, I was intercepted by a pair of arms on my way out and pinned to the wall.

"Fuck me, Bones, what did I say about those stockings? And Jesus, where did you get those panties?" He was already dressed in a navy blue suit and light blue shirt, for once open-collared. His eyes darkened as he looked me up and down, and he pushed his leg between mine, bringing it up until I was straddling his leg. He bent down to nuzzle my neck, and thumbed my nipple through my bra.

"Booth! If we are late for meeting your _mother_, I will never forgive you." His only response was to lift me until my feet were dangling, and kiss me, hard.

He released me, but not before saying, his voice holding menacing promise, "Temperance, you need to buy a hundred more of that set, because I am tearing them off you on the ride home, so help me."

My shaky legs managed to support me to the bedroom as a wash of heat filled my center. After slipping my lipgloss into my clutch, I pulled on my dress, and turned to settle it in place in the mirror. Purple silk, it had elbow-length sleeves and a deep v-neck that was flattering, but not too risqué, I hoped. It was cut on the bias, at a slight A-line, following my curves and then flaring slightly from hip to knee. Stepping into my shoes, I fumbled for my diamond studs, which were bezel-set, much like the ring Booth had given me.

Grabbing my clutch and shawl, I went out into the kitchen. Booth was sitting at the island, looking again at the statements Bob had prepared. Looking up, he smiled, and said, "Almost ready, gorgeous?"

"Just let me shift some things from my purse." I went over to the hall table, and moved my phone and my keys, some cash, my license, and a credit card into the clutch, then debated a moment before shifting my switchblade, too. Booth caught the glint in the light.

"What's that?"

"Switchblade."

"Bones."

"Don't. My dad tends to attract trouble when he's not even trying."

"That reminds me." He headed back to the bedroom, and returned, shrugging his jacket back on and shifting his holster at the small of his back.

"Glock? Or .22?"

"Both," he replied, kicking his pant leg out so it settled more smoothly.

"You know, my shooting instructor said you could sew some extra bias tape up the inside seam and along the hem to make it fall better."

"Good idea," he replied, adjusting his collar as he came to stand behind me in the mirror. I had put my shawl on and smiled at his reflection. He grinned, and quipped, "Mr. and Mrs. Totally Lethal America, ready for another night on the town."

"As long as you'll be my Mister."

Placing a kiss on my neck, he said "You forgot something." The hand at my waist came up in front of me, something dangling from it. Reaching around me, he pulled it apart, and held it up before fastening it around my neck.

"Seeley."

"Don't argue."

It was beautiful—a platinum chain, very simple, with a bezel-set diamond and two flanking sapphires, the mirror image of my ring. It fell just an inch below the hollow of my neck, the length I tended to favor when I bought my own jewelry.

"They're the same color as your eyes," he said, nuzzling my neck some more, until I tilted my head, allowing him further access, as I reached for the hand at my waist and pulled it up, laying a kiss in his palm.

"Let's go, Mister."

"Yes, Missus."

- - -

We took my car, Booth having satisfied his inner boy scout by adding some Kevlar vests and a shotgun and ammunition in a locked case in my trunk. I wasn't wild about the idea, but if we were living together, it made sense that both cars be so equipped, just in case we had to take my car to a scene. He'd also added one of my kits, which mollified me a little, since he'd also started keeping one in his trunk.

We left the car with the valet at the hotel. Entering the lobby, several heads turned, male and female, as we made our way to the elevators. His hand at my back, he leaned it to say, "I see a dozen guys looking at you that I'm going to have to shoot."

"I didn't notice," I murmured. "I was too busy deciding which of the six women ogling you I was going to cut first."

Booth burst out laughing, and more heads turned as he pulled me into a kiss in the midst of the lobby. "I love you, killer," he said, and I pinched his cheek.

"You are so cute when you're threatening to shoot people for me."

We arrived at his parents' floor with five minutes to spare. After checking my makeup and applying more lipgloss, just to be sure, I allowed Booth to steer me down the hall until we found their room. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead, then knocked.

A man who could only have been Booth's father opened the door. It was like looking in a mirror, just thirty years older. He had salt and pepper hair and was slightly thicker around the middle, but he had the same smile and eyes, albeit with more smile lines than Booth. Though I wouldn't have cared if he turned bald and fat as he got older, I was appreciative of the fact that Booth would be as handsome as he aged as he was now.

"Seeley! On time for once!" Grabbing Booth around the neck, he pulled him into a bear hug, the two of them slapping each other on the back. Letting go, Richard turned to me, the family Charm Smile in place. "Temperance," he said, taking my hand and pulling me in for an embrace. "Hello, love." Letting me go, I heard a voice behind him.

"Richard, stop seducing our daughter-in-law, and let them in."

Richard, his hand at my elbow, led me in, as Booth closed the door behind us.

"Hello, dear," said Caroline, coming over to pull me into a hug. She wore the same perfume as my mother. I inhaled, and blinked. Maybe this would be alright. Letting go, she held onto my hand and pulled me over to the sofa. She was lovely—silvering blonde hair and hazel eyes, slim and only slightly shorter than I. "Richard and I started early and ordered some champagne."

"Mom, still a lush," chided Booth, a smile on his face as he came over and gave her a kiss. "Seeley Michael," she said, swatting his knee, "pour your parched old mother a drink."

Grinning, he refilled the two flutes on the table, handing his father one. Turning, he found two more on the mantel, and filled them half way, handing me one.

"Phoenix from Ashes," toasted Richard, as Booth and his mother raised their glasses and I joined them in repeating the unusual toast.

"Lovely champagne," I said.

Caroline laughed. "Oh, I'm just warming up for brunch tomorrow." Something in her mischievous tone made me wonder if maybe it had been such a good idea to team her up with Angela.

I watched Booth interact with his parents, teasing and smiling, gladdened at the ease that they shared. He'd told me they'd reacted badly when Rebecca was pregnant and they didn't get married, but that they'd mellowed over time and were very good to Parker when they could see him. I wondered if they'd read my books, and what they thought of all the sex scenes I'd written for Kathy and Andy. Noticing my silence, Caroline squeezed my hand, and leant over to whisper, "We only bite when asked, dear." I blushed, remembering Booth's vigorous lovemaking.

"Ma! What did you say to her?! Why is she blushing!?"

Caroline blinked innocently up at him, squeezing my hand again. "Nothing I wouldn't say to your father."

"That doesn't help," he grumbled, as Richard burst out laughing. "C'mon, Bones. Let me take you away from these lecherous old coots. They're getting as bad as Jack and Angela in their old age."

"Seeley! You can't leave yet! I brought the photo album!"

It was Booth's turn to blush, and I laughed at the look of worry on his face. "Temperance, dear, did Seeley ever tell you about the year the football team had to take ballet lessons?"

"Ma!!"

I laughed again. It was going to be alright. Looking at the clock, I rose. "I'm going to go find my dad in the lobby. I'll see you in a few minutes." They nodded, and Booth walked me to the door as I faced him from the hallway. As the door closed, I heard a muffled, but familiar, squeal. "Seeley Booth! Tell me everything!" No wonder he was so afraid of Angela.

Stepping off the elevators to the lobby, I spotted my father where I expected him to be—back to the wall, both feet on the floor, sitting slightly forward in a chair that afforded him a view of all corners, just like Booth.

As I moved toward him, he caught the movement and jumped up, jogging over to greet me. "Honey!" he said, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me tight. Backing off, he held me at arm's length, then said "Boy, do you look beautiful. Good thing you're marrying the only man more dangerous than me."

"Hi, Dad." I smiled. He looked nice—he'd worn a black sportcoat and black silk shirt with grey pants, accenting the silver at his temples. "You look nice, too." Slipping my arm through his, he pulled me over to a couch along the wall.

"How'd it go? Okay?"

"Caroline's worse than Angela," I groaned. Dad just grinned. He and Angela had become as thick as thieves.

"Oh, this will be fun. But here, before they come downstairs. I wanted to give you something." He reached into his pocket, and balled his fist around something. I opened my palm, and he dropped what he'd been holding.

"Mom's pearls," I breathed.

"They were her mother's, before."

I drew the strand between my fingers. Unlike most pearls, which were simply strung on silk thread, with a knot between each pearl, these pearls were knotted and spaced with carved silver beads. "It's beautiful."

"So was your mother. So are you. I'd tell you to put them on tonight, but that necklace suits you," he said, running his finger along it to catch the light. He reached for my left hand, then smiled at me, his eyes glinting with moisture. "He's a good man, your Booth. The man who gave my back my little girl is taking her away from me, and I couldn't be happier for you." My own eyes watered a little, so I settled for kissing his cheek.

The elevator behind us dinged, and Dad's eyes darted from my face to the scene behind me. "There's your boy… good lord, he's the spitting image of his father. Remind me never to fight them both at once, one was bad enough."

Still clasping my hand, Dad stood, tugging me up with him, and slipped my arm through his. We walked forward, Booth and my father circling the group until they were standing next to each other, their backs to the wall.

"Boy," said my Dad, and Booth replied, "Max," his tone serious, before he cracked a grin and they embraced with much back slapping and an exchange of murmured comments. Separating to stand again next to my Dad, Booth surreptitiously frisked my father's back as he said, "Max Keenan, this is my father, Richard, and my mother, Caroline."

Old charmer that he is, my father bowed over Caroline's hand, placing a light kiss on its back as he winked as Richard. Straightening, he turned to shake Richard's hand, and was as surprised as I was when Richard clasped his hand in both of his, and said "Marvin Beckett was a hero of mine. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Still taken aback, my father smiled slowly, and then clasped Richard's hand with his other. Shooting a look at Booth, he said "Boy, why didn't you tell me your father was such a handsome devil? I was expecting another ugly mug like you!" Caroline pealed with laughter, and broke in, taking my father's arm.

"I'm sitting next to you! I can hardly wait to hear how you compliment me!"

"What could I possibly say to the third most beautiful woman I've ever met?" he twinkled. Caroline caught his meaning, but Booth rumbled.

"Max, I'll have you know that my mother…"

"Is the most beautiful woman I've met, _after_ my Christine and our Temperance." Dad rolled his eyes at Booth. "At least I have _some_ things to teach you."

Turning, Richard caught my eye and offered me his arm. The four of us set off, as Booth followed, mock-growling, "Stop getting handsy with my mom, Max. And Mom, you stop getting handsy with Max."

- - -

Dinner was relaxed, and the table was full of laughter. My father and Richard has fallen in like old chums, and Caroline mimed jealousy between tales of Booth's childhood. Caroline ordered more champagne, and Richard repeated the toast from the hotel room. We ended up passing our appetizers around to share, and I was enjoying my salad again when I felt someone approaching behind us. Booth and I turned at the same time, and were surprised to see Kyle Richardson approaching. "Dr. Brennan? Agent Booth?"

"Kyle Richardson," I breathed, as Booth shot me a strained look. We both rose, then, and smiled at the man as he reached us.

"Kyle, how are you? How's your boy?"

"He's great," he replied. He motioned over to a nearby table, and said "He's actually here with my sister and me for dinner." He stepped to the side, and we could see the toddler smiling at his aunt.

"Good for you," said Booth.

Kyle nodded, and said, "I just can't thank you enough."

He turned to look at the table and smiled. "I'm sorry to interrupt a family dinner, but when I saw Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth, I had to come over and thank them again. They brought me back my little boy after my wife was killed. It's, well, it's changed my life for the better." He then bid his goodbyes, shaking hands with us and returning to his table. We stood a moment longer, looking at each other with stunned expressions, then sat again.

"That happen often?" asked my father.

"More and more," murmured Booth, somewhat shakily, as he smoothed his shirtfront and cleared his throat.

Our entrees arrived at that point, and our parents started trying to top each other with embarrassing stories from when we were children. Booth's parents must have already heard my story from him, because they asked no questions about my teenage years or my mother, though my father offered some about her that I'd only heard once or twice before. Dessert and coffee followed, and Richard and Booth both had two servings of apple tart.

"It's not pie," started Seeley, as his father finished, "but it'll do." Caroline and I just rolled our eyes at each other. We lingered over our coffee, but Booth finally requested the check, prompting a semi-serious argument with his father over who was paying the bill. The waiter reappeared, and whispered something to Booth before handing him the folder with the check. Looking surprised, he turned to me and then looked back to where Kyle Richardson had been sitting. "He picked up the check," he whispered, opening the folder to reveal a note that read, simply, "Bless you and thank you again," and signed with his initials.

Booth picked up the note and handed it to me. Hands shaking, I put it in my purse, joining my mother's pearls. The rest of the table exclaimed when Booth explained what had happened, Caroline in particular as we left the restaurant. As Booth's parents preceded us, my Dad came up between us, his arms over our shoulders. "You two deserve every good thing there is," he said, his voice pitched low so as not to carry forward. "Don't question if some of the good you've done comes back to you." He squeezed our shoulders, then, and stepped away, skirting us to join Richard and Caroline on the walk back to the hotel.

My hand found Seeley's, then, and he pulled it up to tuck it under his arm as we walked, allowing a few paces to fall between us and his parents. "Sometimes I wonder if what we do makes a difference to anyone but the victims themselves," I said, as Booth completed my thought, "but it's nice to be reminded."

- - -

We said our goodnights at the hotel door, my father promising to attend Parker's game on Sunday. Exchanging hugs all around, he waved as he drove off in the slightly used truck that was all he would let me buy him. As the valet brought our car around, I settled with Caroline when we would pick her up, and programmed her cell number into my own. After a hug and a kiss with both of Booth's parents, and another whiff of my mother's perfume, Booth helped me into the car and we headed home.

"See? No shooting, no arrests. Went perfectly," he said, reaching for my hand.

"It did." We drove in silence, until Booth broke it again.

"I was looking at those papers again. What's the Foster Foundation?"

My newest and dearest pet project. "It's a grant foundation for foster kids—college scholarships, elementary tutoring and private school scholarships, discretionary income supplementation for families below a certain threshold, and two suitcases and a backpack for every kid in the tri-state area."

"Bones," he said, his voice softening.

"I was supposed to go to New York next week for a meeting my publisher set up with the three largest luggage manufacturers, to see if they'd donate their imperfects and seconds. I've been funding it, but it would be good publicity for them, and I'm hoping that in the future, I can get the public interested in donating."

Booth squeezed my hand. "Can I go with you? I'll Charm Smile the wallets right out of their pockets, and if that doesn't work, I'll shoot them."

"I'd love your company, but perhaps your fallback should be the puppy dog eyes, instead."

"You know, Bones, if anyone ever accuses you of being cold ever again, just tell me who they are and I'll carve their hearts out."

"You're sweet."

"I mean it."

"I know," I said, pulling his hand up to kiss his knuckles. "But again, paperwork."

I left my clutch and shawl in the entryway, as Booth looked up, scanning the room before relaxing, as always. He tossed his wallet and keys on the table, and I heard a clank as he put away the .22 before coming back to the bedroom. I slipped off my shoes and hung up my dress as he replaced the Glock and shed his own clothes, including his matching navy and sky-blue striped boxers and socks. I smiled at him in the mirror as I took out my earrings and removed the new necklace.

"Don't think I didn't see you frisking my dad."

He laughed. "Old habits, Bones. He's not licensed for a concealed carry, I at least won't arrest him if I catch him. You Brennans are all criminals anyway."

"Hey!" I cried. "I got that arrest purged from my record! You signed off on it, remember?"

"That's not what I was referring to," he said, as he turned back after hanging up his suit. He had that look in his eye again. "I was referring to the completely illegal stockings and lingerie you were teasing me with all night. Don't you know it's a federal offense to give a Special Agent a hard on so big that his father laughed at him in the restaurant bathroom?"

Oh. That. His eyes had darkened, and he advanced on me with a quirk at the edge of his mouth, his penis fully at attention.

"Um," I said, licking my lips and backing away until my knees hit the bed. "I'm sorry?"

"Not good enough," he whispered, pushing me backward and up onto the bed, and grasping my wrists to pin them over my head in one hand. Good lord, he was strong. "I'm afraid can't let you go until you admit in detail all the things you've done to break the law." Still holding my hands above me, his weight pinning me to the bed, he reached over the side and pulled up a discarded tie.

"Seeley," I squeaked, as he tied my hands and looped the remaining fabric around one of the rungs on the headboard, before bringing it back to tie another knot around my wrists again.

"Agent Booth," he said, as he lowered his head to my chest, snapping my bra strap as he went. "And don't interrupt me while I'm investigating." He fastened his mouth on my nipple, sucking me through the lace of my bra, as his fingers slipped lightly, teasingly, to trace the edges of my panties. Stroking his tongue against the fabric, his other hand pulled the lace of the other cup aside, and his fingers began to stroke the curve of my breast and my nipple with feather light touches.

I was already soaking wet, and tried tugging at my hands to see if the knot would hold. Of course it did—the man was good at everything. He moved the fingers tracing the line of my panties, and pushed them aside to stroke my folds, once, the touch making my walls contract and a rush of liquid escape. He removed his fingers and I whimpered, as he slid them, still wet, down my thigh to the top of my stocking. He switched his mouth, then, to my bared breast, licking my nipple with tiny flicks of his tongue, as he rolled my other nipple, painfully erect, between his fingers.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered, but he said nothing, just continued to tease my breasts as his lower hand pinched my thigh lightly, then descended the length of my leg, pinching and stroking, with alternating startling and soothing touches. "Seeley, please, I'm sorry, I confess, I'll be good," I begged, desperate for him to stop and soothe the ache that was burning inside me. His only response was to move his hand into my panties again, delving into me to stroke my spot twice before withdrawing to draw circles around my clitoris. I cramped, painfully, as he left my heat, and moaned as he stroked my clitoris once, hard, before repeating his touches on my other leg.

I was sweating, and quivering, my head thrashing on the bed as I moaned, when his mouth left my breasts and he shifted to sit between my legs. This time, he pushed aside the soaking wet fabric that covered my core and dipped two fingers into me as his thumb stroked my clitoris. I was panting, practically hyperventilating, as he continued to move his fingers inside me, too lightly to allow me to come. He leaned back then, and scratched the fingers of his other hand across the sole of my foot.

"Ah! Fuck, Seeley!" I screamed, as he continued to tickle me, his hand inside me never losing its rhythm. I flooded and cramped around his hand, but could not come to release, because he withdrew from me.

He bent forward and breathed against my breast, "No swearing, Dr. Brennan, during an interrogation," then took my breast in his mouth, flicking my clitoris slightly harder. My hips bucked against him, and I moaned again. Still sucking my breast, holding my nipple lightly between his teeth, he tugged the side of my panties until they tore, and slid from my breast to my center as he tossed them aside. His mouth descended on me then, his tongue and his teeth on me, licking me with firm strokes as I bucked against him, lost to sensation as he finally let me climax. I was still shuddering when he reached up and tugged at my bonds, the sound of silk ripping sending a jolt through me as I realized again how strong he was. He pulled my still-bound arms forward, until he slipped his head between my arms. Sliding an arm under my hips, he said "hold on," and lifted me as he sheathed himself in me, then pulled me forward as he sat and pulled my legs forward to straddle him. Holding my waist, he bucked into me, eliciting another cry of his name as I strove to meet his thrusts. I came then, shattered, but he continued to push into me and I cramped again in the midst of my climax, his motion prompting another.

My head fell forward onto his shoulder as we came apart and together again-- reduced to whimpers again, I cried "I love you" as he thrust into me with increasing speed and force. Moving one hand from my waist as he grasped me harder with the other, he began to stroke my clitoris as he grunted, "Temperance, love," then moaned as I felt him begin to gather within me. With a final pass of his thumb, we came together, crying out with the force of our mutual climaxes, and I collapsed further against him, my chest sealing against his with our sweat. We sat there some moments, panting, and then he reached up, removing my arms from around his neck. Lowering me back down onto the bed, he withdrew from me and came to my side, untying what was left of my bonds, then kissing each wrist as he rubbed them lightly with his fingers. Reaching under me, he unclasped my bra and slid it from my unresisting arms, laughing as they flopped, lifeless, back onto the bed. Placing a kiss over my heart, he shifted further down the bed, and removed the stockings I was still wearing, stroking me again with those lighter-than-air touches and causing me to whimper anew. Casting them behind them, he bent my leg and began to lay kisses along my calf, kneeling between my legs and continuing his path up to my inner thigh.

"No more," I moaned, as his tongue lapped my renewing heat. "Please," I whined, as he lifted his mouth only long enough to say, dangerously low, "Sorry, Bones. You commit the crime, you have to do the time."

- - -

The phone rang from the table on my side of the bed. Fumbling, as I shifted a bit under Booth's arm and leg, his head resting atop my shoulder and in my hair, I picked it up. The sun was shining, and I wondered what time it was.

"Hello?" I rasped, my eyes still closed.

"Good morning, Bren," said Angela, "this is your seven o'clock wake up call. Three more hours for that naughty, sexy man to give you your five servings of daily hotness." I swallowed, as Booth stirred beside me.

"You have no idea. He's already up to two."

He turned, and stuck his tongue in my ear, then growled, "It doesn't count if it's dark out."

Angela purred, "I heard that. I'll call again in two hours," and promptly hung up.

Pulling the phone from my hand, he levered himself up to grin at me as he put it back on the bedside table, then flipped me onto my stomach.

I was going to kill Angela for calling so early.

- - -

When the phone rang again, I picked it up from where I was lying, face down, atop the island, and heard "Bren?" as he thrust into me again, standing behind me, his hands holding me down on the counter.

"Ange, ah, ah, stop that, Ange, come get me NOW." The evil woman laughed and hung up again.

- - -

I was standing in the bathroom in a powder blue duplicate of the lingerie I'd worn the night before (really, I must have a heretofore unknown masochistic streak, but it honestly was the first thing that came to hand) drying my hair in the bathroom, my cheeks seemingly flushed a permanent pink, when the doorbell rang and I heard voices. The clock on the wall read 9:45, so I continued to get ready, leaving my hair curly and down as I applied makeup, then stepped from the bathroom to find Booth on the other side, his hand raised to tap on the door. He took in my attire, then grabbed me by the waist and slung me over his shoulder, heading toward the bedroom. "Seeley!" I yelled, but he just called "twenty minutes, Angela," before slamming the door. I heard her cackling from down the hall.

- - -

We actually made it to his parents' hotel on time, and parked the car outside. His mother and father were sitting at one of the tables in the cafe at the back of the lobby, two cups of coffee on the table between them. As Richard stood to give me a hug and a "hello, love," Angela introduced herself to Caroline, then turned to Richard.

"Hello," she cooed, batting her eyelashes at him while still touching Caroline's hand with her fingertips. "I see where your son gets his looks," she continued, then turned to Caroline, batting her eyelashes again, and stating, "though I'm really more partial to blondes."

Caroline stood, and batting her own lashes, said "Brunettes are nice, but I've always been partial to auburn hair, myself," and slipped her hand to the small of my back.

I blushed, furiously, and tried to compose myself, saying, "Perhaps I should leave you two here to get, ahem, better acquainted, and Richard and I will just go shopping."

Caroline just laughed, and said, "This is going to be so much fun. You blush even more than Seeley does."

- - -

After brunch, we headed to the first of several stores where Angela had set up appointments. The first two stores had some lovely things, but nothing that really called to me. If I was going to do the whole white dress thing, I wanted something that demanded I buy it. At the third store, I began sorting through the racks of dresses the saleswoman had brought into the private dressing room, standing in my underwear as Angela and Caroline traded cracks about my breasts. "You're just jealous," I said, and they both smirked, then agreed. The first two were worth trying on, but as I put them aside, I saw it. Angela and Caroline were still leaning over their chairs to one another, swapping gossip about my past lousy boyfriends, while I slipped the dress on over my head. Pulling up the side zipper, and adjusting the bodice, I decided it was perfect. I turned, and said, "This is it."

They both looked up, and both gasped. "Sweetie," whispered Angela. Caroline nodded, smiling and tearing up a little. I turned toward the mirror, to make sure it looked as perfect as it felt.

Smoothing the silvery-white duchesse satin under my hands, I pulled my hair up off my neck as I admired the wide front boatneck, which dipped just low enough to accommodate my mother's pearls, before swooping back up to just inside my shoulders, to cover my arms in tight three-quarter sleeves. The dress was cut close to the body, the princess seams accentuating my curves, and then the skirt flared out, just above my knees, stopping an inch above my ankles. Turning to look over my shoulder, I could see that the back was as low as I'd thought it was, curving wide and deep from my shoulders, and leaving bare the section of my lower back where Booth's hand so often found its home. The saleswoman re-entered the room just then, and added her own gasp.

"I have just the thing," she said, turning and leaving the door open. Coming back, she handed me a pair of white satin sandals the exact color of my dress, very simple, just a band across the toes and an ankle strap over a three inch heel. Angela squealed, and made me put them on. Doing so, I turned to review my reflection again, and decided the shoes were perfect. The saleswoman, appearing in the mirror at my shoulder, then held up a veil, waiting for my nod before fastening it to my hair with two pearl and silver-studded combs. Adjusting the veil so it fell behind me, she turned me so I could see that it came just short of the hem of my dress in back, and that the front piece stopped just above my breasts. I'd never imagined a white wedding when I was little-- even then, I'd been focused on science-- but looking in the mirror, I realized I wasn't just doing this for Booth any more.

"I'll take it all."

- - -

Angela's florist friend took one look at the digital pictures Angela had taken of me in the dress, and said "I have just the thing." We could see her ducking into the refrigerator, pulling stems out of buckets, and humming to herself.

Coming back with a bunch of flowers in her hand, she laid them down on the table, then pulled a piece of paper over and began sketching. "White star chrysanthemums, white and blue asters, yellow and white daisies, some blue irises, and a few pale yellow roses. We'll wrap the stems with pale blue and yellow ribbon."

"That was easy," I laughed, and looked at Angela. "You don't mind wearing blue and yellow, do you?"

"I'm sure I'll find something," she laughed.

- - -

Angela insisted we go shopping next for lingerie at her favorite store. As she and Caroline looked for their own "surprises" for Jack and Richard, I looked through the offerings, picking out several more selections to replace the sets Booth had ruined, as well as a silvery-grey set I thought would work well under the wedding dress, with moveable straps. I then looked through the nightgowns. Not that I would be wearing it long if the last week was any measure, but the pearl grey silk of the one I chose matched the set I'd picked out for under the dress. Maybe he'd at least let me make it out of the bathroom before he took it off me.

Turning back, I saw that Angela had an armload of tropical-colored confections, and that Caroline had made some inroads of her own. Holding up a barely-there lilac teddy, she said, "Isn't it gorgeous? Richard is going to rip it right off of me."

I snorted, and decided to get her back a little. "Apparently some things run in the family." Caroline turned to look at me, and blushed. Finally. "They get a little impatient, those Booths," she murmured, winking and heading toward the cashier.

Angela and I followed. "I love her, Bren. If you and Booth ever break up, I might just keep her instead of you."

Caroline heard, and turned, smiling. "Oh, Richard and I are definitely keeping Temperance, don't worry."

- - -

Angela dropped us at Booth's, keeping everything but the replacement lingerie. "I'll hang on to it and get it all cleaned beforehand," she said, "and then your hunky investigator won't find it as quickly."

I rolled my eyes. "Angela, once I get married, I simply am not going to stand for your outrageous attempts to steal Booth from me. Remember, I know three kinds of martial arts, and several good sailor's knots."

"You promise, but you never deliver," she retorted, licking her lips. "Tease!"

She drove off, Caroline and I still keeled over with laughter on the front walk. We went in, and I locked the door as we set out shopping bags under the hall table. The boys hadn't yet returned, so I asked "Tea?"

Caroline quirked an eyebrow at me, and parried. "Ice cream?"

"Rocky road, I suppose," I laughed, pulling out the containers and making her a banana split topped with the ice cream, then making my own favorite sundae.

Taking our bowls to the living room, I sat in my chair as she settled on the sofa. "So, tell me when you first fell in love with my son," she said, spooning ice cream from her bowl. I told her about the case involving Sean and David Cook and their foster mother Margaret, and how he'd made good on my promise to reunite the boys with her. "There are so few good and well-off foster families out there, and I couldn't bear to see those boys taken from Margaret. He made sure they went home. Of course, it took me a while longer to really admit it, but that's another story."

"He called me, ranting and raving, after the first time you worked together, telling me how infuriating you were. I thought at first that he was angry because you'd solved the murder and he hadn't, but when I asked him, he blurted out that he was really angry because you thought he hadn't learned to listen to you after that case. I figured that it would take someone really extraordinary to rile him up so much-- he's usually pretty even-keeled." I smiled and kept my silence, thankful that she'd apparently never encountered Booth while he was raging when we had a case involving a child, or was taking his anger out on a suspect once we'd procured a confession, or was anguished over taking another life, or being caught by one of the many memories that haunted him. It was better she had a less complicated understanding of him.

The lock turned in the door, and Parker burst in. "Grandma!" he yelled, running over to the couch and jumping up on top of her to give her a kiss, before jumping off again and throwing himself into my lap for an enthusiastic kiss, yelling "Bones!" in my ear.

"Whoa, Bub, how about not waking every dog in the neighborhood," called Booth, as he and Richard dropped their jackets and keys by the door. "Parks, didn't you say you had to go to the bathroom?" he continued.

"I'll take him," Richard volunteered, pulling Parker off my lap and tossing him over his shoulder as he headed down the hall.

"Whoa, Bones, La Perla!" said Booth, rustling through the bags his mother and I had put under the table. Coming into view again, a lilac teddy dangling from his fingers, he said "Very sexy, Bones..."

"Actually, that's your mother's."

He dropped it like a hot potato, turned bright red, and said, "I left something in the car," as he fumbled with the lock and slammed out of the house. Richard, having settled Parker into the bathroom, came back and saw the scrap of fabric on the floor. "Caroline," he rumbled, giving her what seemed to be the Booth trademark leer after he picked it up, "Am I going to have to take you back to the hotel?"

She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and said "Maybe," turning on the couch to half rise and plant a far from motherly kiss on her husband's mouth. Just then, Booth came back in the door.

"Mom! Dad! Knock it off, will you?"


	19. Chapter 19

19

19.

We spent a Parker-centered afternoon, as he recounted our trip to the aquarium, and showed his grandparents the four gold stars he'd gotten on the homework I'd helped him with. He then insisted we play a boardgame, something with confections that I knew was a bad commercial influence on his willingness to ingest candy. My phone alarm buzzed just as the first game was ending, so I excused myself to go take my next dose. When I came out, I could hear there was a new game already started, so I decided to go lie down for a bit. Though I always felt fit in the mornings, the drugs had a cumulative effect over the day, and I was often quite tired in the afternoons. Taking off my shoes, I crawled under the covers and pulled Booth's pillow to my chest, inhaling his scent. I was still lying, mostly awake, when the door opened softly. A weight settled on the edge of the bed, and a hand brushed some hair from my face.

"Sleepy?" he asked.

"Mmm-hmm. I feel fine, just tired. They said it would."

He stroked my hair and said, "We were going to go to the playground for a bit. Will you be okay if we go and come back?"

I nodded, and whispered "Have fun," then smiled as he kissed my nose before shutting the door softly behind him. I heard voices conferring and Parker's voice asking "Isn't Bones coming?", and then the door shutting. Pulling his pillow closer, I slept.

- - -

I was woken when a small hand patted my face. "Dr. Bones?" Opening my eyes, I saw Parker standing next to the bed.

"Hey, you. How was the park?"

"It was good. Grandma went on the swings with me. Are you getting up?"

"Mmm-hmm," I responded, pushing the covers back a bit and then grabbing him, pulling him into the bed with me for a quick tickle. He squealed, then sat in my lap as I sat up against the headboard. "What else did you do?"

Parker rattled off a detailed list of what they'd done, and who they'd seen, and what new dogs he'd met, and who had new toys as I wiped the sleep from my eyes and rubbed my head. Booth stuck his head in, and seeking his son, said "Parker, I told you to let Bones sleep."

"It's okay, Booth. Time for me to get up anyway," I said, then grabbed Parker and slung him under my arm as I got out of bed, swinging him up and away for me as he yelled in delight, "Dr. Bones! Dr. Bones!" He was going to be too big before too long for me to throw him around the way his father did, but I was glad he seemed to be enjoying the attention now.

"Off you go," I said. "I'm going to wash my face, I'll be right out."

I saw with a bit of shock that I'd slept for almost three hours, and that it was actually time for my next dose. As I was injecting myself, Booth slipped into the bathroom and watched as I finished jabbing the needle into my hip, then emptied the sharp into its box. He bent and kissed the spot I'd just injected, then frowned as a small bead of blood rose to the surface. "I don't like that it bruises," he said, then laid kisses on the other black and blue spots where I'd jabbed myself. "Does it hurt?" I busied myself with putting away the kit as I lied and said no. In truth, it always burned when I first would inject myself, and it took several minutes for the sensation to go away. But I wasn't going to tell him that, not when it wouldn't change anything, and would only make him more worried.

His expression dark, he said, "I suppose I should learn how to do that."

"I'll show you tomorrow," I said, then pulled his head down to kiss me. "What's the plan for tonight?"

"Rebecca said he could stay tonight and tomorrow, so I thought we'd all go out for supper tonight. Parker wants spaghetti and meatballs."

"Tony's?" I asked. "Maybe call about a table, they mostly have fours, not sixes."

"Good idea."

I opened the door, went back into the bedroom for my shoes, and returned to the living room, before slipping them on. Booth got off the phone, and said "They've got room, let's go."

We took Booth's truck, Richard and he in the front, and Caroline and I in the back with Parker. I snapped Parker into his seat again, and looked up to see Caroline and Richard both watching me as poked Parker while I did up the straps and buckles. They both smiled, and turned forward, and Booth turned the radio to his favorite classic rock station and started singing along loudly to some Led Zeppelin song I didn't know. His dad joined in, his voice equally terrible. Shaking my head, I put my hands to my ears and pretended like I couldn't hear them, sticking my tongue out at Booth as he looked at me in the rearview mirror.

--

While the three generations of Booth men were engaged in a spaghetti-slurping contest, Caroline and I discussed some of our other plans for the wedding.

"Will you go anywhere? At least for the weekend?"

I told her I wasn't sure. I could probably reschedule my seminar, but I would be in chemotherapy then, and couldn't miss a session. I also didn't know how I was going to be feeling by that point-- at least more tired, if not also nauseous or worse. Thinking some more, I mentioned that we might just get a hotel room here in the city until the Monday afterward-- "at least indulge in a little room service." I'd been feeling quiet, and not particularly talkative, since before my nap, and Caroline seemed to sense this, changing the subject to tell me stories about Booth's brother Jared. She pulled out her wallet, showed me pictures of a man who looked more like a male version her, his hair a sandy blonde, with her hazel eyes. He had a version of the Booth smile, though. "Handsome," I said, "but not as handsome as my Booth." Caroline smiled and leant to kiss my cheek, and then I got up to go to the bathroom. Noticing that Parker's face was completely covered in sauce, I asked "Parker, want to come wash up with me?" He hopped from his booster seat, and stuck his sauce-covered hand in mine as we went off to the bathroom.

Bringing him into the ladies' room, I sat him up on the line of sinks while I wet some papertowels. "You are as big a slob as your Daddy," I said, wiping his face and hands. "How did you get meatball in your hair?"

He just gave me his miniature charm smile and said, "I have to pee."

I lifted him down to the floor, then pushed him toward a stall. "You okay to do it yourself?" He nodded, and made his way in. I saw tiptoes as he reached to close the latch. I attended to my own business, and exited the stall at the same time he did. Grabbing him around the waist, I held him up against the sink by expedient of sitting him on one leg, and turned the taps, lathering my hands. Opening my soapy hands, I took his hands and drew them between mine, rubbing them clean and then rinsing both of our hands under the water.

Returning to the table, Parker followed me to my chair, then crossed my lap to climb into his grandmother's. "Seeley, your child," I began, "had meatball in his hair. I will not be surprised if you find more in his ears when it's bathtime. I will be teaching him some better table manners, and you will _not_ interfere." Booth just stuck his tongue out at me.

We dropped his parents at the hotel, and returned home. Parker fell asleep in his seat, and Booth carried him in the house, depositing him on the couch as we locked up. "Should we wake him for a bath, or wait until morning?"

Inspecting his son's fingernails, Booth said, "Nah, he can take a shower with me in the morning. I'll go tuck him in." I plugged in our phones, hung up the jackets and scarves, and turned off the lights as I made my way back to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Back in the bedroom, I undressed, and put away enough of the laundry to empty a basket to collect the clothes strewn about the bedroom. Sorting through the pile I'd collected, I set aside the three pairs of panties Booth had destroyed, and set the matching bras aside, trying to decide whether to keep them now that their matches were rags. Shaking my head, I laughed. He'd stop as soon as he realized what an expensive lingerie habit I had. Collecting the remnants of the tie he'd also torn, I saw it was the pink and orange tie he'd worn the day this all began. Setting it aside, I tidied the top of the bureau, rearranged the shoes in the bottom of the closet, and made some more room for some of the things I wanted to hang up, rather than leave folded. A wash of tiredness came over me, so I gave up and slid under the covers. Booth joined me not much later, and pulled me over to him to lie against his warmth. I was already half asleep, so I just patted him when he kissed my nose.

In the middle of the night, the door creaked open, and a small weight at the end of the bed caught my attention. Booth was snoring like a freight train, and didn't budge an inch as Parker made his way between us. "Can I sleep with you?" he asked, so I pulled the covers down and pulled him between us. His pajamas were fuzzy, and as he made himself comfortable, he kicked me with the plastic soles covering his feet, before turning to scoot himself into me. Okay. Apparently at least two generations of Booth men were perfectly comfortable making me into their own personal pillow. I had never felt both so put-upon or so loved.

- - -

The alarm beeped, and I realized I was pinned to my back my a different weight than what I'd become accustomed to. Lifting the covers, I saw that Parker had somehow managed to lie all the way across my stomach. Then, I heard a yank and a thump, as the alarm flew across the room. Clearly, I needed to start an alarm clock investment fund.

"Nnnrgh," he said, rolling to face me. "When did he come in?"

"Middle of the night," I said, and he smiled, then laid his head on my shoulder, adding to the mass of Booths weighing me down. The headline would probably read "Top Forensic Anthropologist Smothered by Father-Son Duo."

"Get up. We'll miss Mass," I said, poking him with the arm he wasn't lying on top of.

"We?"

"I promised we'd raise him Catholic. I don't have to believe it to respect the rituals." He smiled sleepily, and kissed my shoulder,

"What about the alarm?"

"Mom'll call." I tried to budge out from under them, but it was a lost cause. I tried, I thought, as I fell back asleep.

- - -

The phone rang, later, by my head. Half-asleep, I fumbled it to my ear with the arm not laden with Booths, and muttered "Booth-Brennan." Mmm. That sounded nice.

"Oh, I like that, dear. Good morning, it's Caroline. I just called to say we'll be leaving here in forty-five minutes."

"Okay, thank you, see you soon."

I hung up, still mostly asleep, then gave Booth a shove. "Up, up. That was your mom." Parker, responding to the voices, shifted and rolled over, right onto my bladder.

"Ow, Parker, move, I have to pee." He sat up, pulling the covers down, then laid his head back down on my stomach and joined me in trying to rouse the still-slumberous Booth.

"Daddy, wake up." Booth cracked an eye, grimaced, and shut it again.

"Nnnrgh. Bones'll make breakfast."

I gave him another shove. "Not with a load of Booths weighing me down. Off, and out, both of you."

Parker piped up. "I don't want to get up, Bones. You're soft, and you smell nice."

"Still. Up." Booth finally moved, and I slid out of bed, pulling his robe off the door. "You two shower, I'll make something."

I had started coffee, and bacon, and cracked some eggs for scrambling by the time they came out, Parker dressed for church in a button-down shirt and pants, and Booth in slacks, a shirt, and a sweater. I didn't usually see him in anything but suits or the jeans and t-shirts he preferred off hours, but he looked good in anything (or nothing), really.

Coming to stand behind me a drop a kiss on my neck, he said "Go get showered, I'll finish."

I pondered what to wear before settling on a brown suede shirtdress I rarely had a chance to wear—dresses don't work well under coveralls. Finding some tights, I then pulled on my favorite boots, and looked for a belt, before deciding one of Booth's would do. Re-donning the daisy necklace and earrings, I wrapped my damp hair into a bun, and put on a minimum of makeup before returning to the kitchen.

"Twenty minutes, you're fast," he greeted me.

"I'm hungry," I replied, then served myself some toast and scrambled eggs as he made me my cup of coffee. I'd barely finished my breakfast when the doorbell rang, so I scrambled to collect our things as Booth wrestled Parker into a jacket. We all piled into Booth's truck again, and I laughed to myself about how we probably looked like a car commercial, the parents, grandparents, and child.

- - -

Church was surprisingly nice. I sat as everyone else knelt, though I stood when they did. Parker sat with me as the rest of the Booths left the pew to take Communion, and told me all about how he was going to get First Communion in "two whole years." I hoped I would be around to see it. My phone vibrated several times, but I ignored it despite the urge to do something with my hands while I say waiting for Communion to end. At the end of the service, the priest smiled widely to see me, and shook my hand vigorously.

We stopped briefly back at Booth's to get Parker into his soccer uniform, and got back into the car along with Richard and Caroline. I returned my Dad and Russ' messages, and made sure they had directions along the way.

The game went as expected, a bunch of five-year-olds milling around a ball that was too big for them to kick effectively. Parker, by merit of his ability to run in a straight line and his ability to remember where the net was he was supposed to kick at, scored two goals, the only ones of the game. My dad was charming Richard again, while Caroline was engaged in admiring Hallie's new braces, which were decorated with pink and yellow elastics. Booth spent most of the game jumping up and down on the sideline, yelling encouragement to Parker and trying to get the rest of his team to run in the same direction. "The other way! After the ball!"

Russ and I walked off at one point to get pizza from the store at the corner, and returned with a full junk food feast of chips, soda and cheese pizza.

"We should have gotten some salads," I said.

"Tempe, their kids. Cheese is the only vegetable they'll eat."

"Cheese is not a vegetable, Russ."

"Tempe, trust me."

We discussed how I was feeling, briefly, but Russ had enough on his plate with Hallie's cystic fibrosis, so I changed the subject as soon as I could to ask how the girls were doing. He was animatedly describing the most recent dance recital when we returned. Booth was still jumping up and down on the sidelines, so I returned just in time to see three children on the opposing team trip over their own feet as Parker ran by them with the ball and scored again. The referee blew the whistle, and all the kids swarmed Parker, basking in his ability to put one foot in front of the other.

"Bones! Did you see him?! The kid's a star!"

I laughed. "He is. Although he'll have a little more work to do once his opponents learn to tie their cleats." Booth snorted and shot me a grin as he squatted to catch freight-train Parker, who was headed right our way.

"Three, Daddy! Three!" We were joined the rest of the group, who all fussed over Parker's athletic prowess. Walking back to the blankets where the pizza feast was ongoing, Parker grabbed my hand.

"Dr. Bones, I'm so glad you came. I know you don't like sports, but Mommy doesn't either and she never comes." Oh. Shit. Squatting beside him, I debated what to say as Booth froze, looking stricken. Here goes nothing, I thought.

"Parker, your Mommy loves you very much. She just knows soccer is your special time with your Dad, and wants to let you guys hang out, that's all."

"Do you think so?" he asked, giving me a look of such trust that I determined to call Rebecca right after the game, if Booth hadn't already.

"Oh, I know so."

"Okay, good Dr. Bones. Daddy says you know _everything_." And with that, he flashed me a smile and ran off to demand a slice of pizza from his grandfather. Extending your hand, you pulled me up as I muttered under my breath to you.

"That was close."

"I'll call her after he goes to bed."

Parker was animatedly giving Russ and Amy's girls a blow-by-blow of the game they'd just watched. With the wisdom of eight and ten year olds, they smiled and pretending like it was all new. Russ and Amy were engaged in a discussion of car-buying with Richard, and my Dad and Caroline were laughing about something together.

I took Booth's arm, and leaned my head against his shoulder. "Look, family."

He turned and pulled me into a hug, then rested his forehead against mine, and looking down, gave me a thumbs-up. "Family," he said, as I gave him mine in return.

- - -

Russ, Amy and the girls were the first to leave—though Hallie was doing much better, she got tired quickly. I handed him the keys to my apartment, and assured him I had an extra set at Booth's. My dad left next, after giving Caroline a courtly bow and Richard a saucy wink, which sent them all into peals of laughter.

"Our parents are all old perverts," you murmured in my ear, as you stood behind me with your arms around my waist. The Booths and I then cleaned up the litter, engaging Parker in running things over to the trash barrels as we folded up the blankets. We dropped his parents at their hotel, and Richard and Caroline both gave me moist eyed hugs goodbye, making me promise to call them soon. I didn't think that would be a problem. They'd been so accepting, and like Booth, were good at not asking questions when it wasn't the right time.

While Booth got Parker changed and bathed, I answered some emails from my students. The semester had only started the week before, so I had emailed them all the reading and encouraged them to send me questions, in the hope that I would be able to commence class in another week. I then corresponded with my publisher about the meeting next week, confirming our travel details and the agenda.

Closing my laptop, I leaned back and mentally reviewed the upcoming week. MRI and follow up with Henry Watkins, Monday; meeting in New York Wednesday; email my lawyer; see Zack on Friday. I decided we should ask Cam and Sully for dinner; they would be picking up a lot of slack soon. Deciding, I picked up the phone and called Cam's office, intending to leave a voice mail. Instead, she picked up.

"Saroyan."

"Camille, hi, it's Temperance."

"Hello—what can I do for you?"

"I'm sorry you're stuck at the lab on Sunday"

Her answer took me a bit by surprise. "Oh—well, it's so busy during the week that I thought it would be better to show Agent Sullivan the changes in our technology since he last worked with us." Uh-huh. Changes in technology. Even I wasn't that thick.

"Well, I was intending to leave you a message to see if you and Sully wanted to come for dinner this week. You're going to get stuck with some work; the least we can do is feed you." Cam put her hand over the mouthpiece, then returned.

"That would be great. Maybe Thursday, we'll see how the week goes?"

We agreed, and I rang off, then sat back and closed my eyes again, trying to think what other plans I should tackle.

I woke as Booth was pulling my boots off, having gotten me back to the bedroom without waking me.

"I'm boring company already."

"Nah," he said, pulling the rest of my clothes off me, and sliding under the covers. "Just catching up on all those all-nighters at the lab."

I snuggled into his chest, my eyes still closed. "I invited Camille and Sully for dinner Thursday night. They'll be busy, soon. She was showing Sully technological advances as the lab when I called."

You snorted. "Technological advances. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

- - -

Monday's MRI was hopeful—the mass had gone down another centimeter. Booth wasn't so sure. "I thought it would be more," he said, once we were back in the car.

I patted his arm. "It's fine. It's only been two weeks."

"You've been taking that stuff three times a day. It should work faster." His jaw clenched, and he refused to meet my eye as he drove. I patted him again, when my phone rang.

"It's Cam." He looked over at me, and I answered. "Cam, you're on speaker."

"Temperance… I'm sorry to call but… is there any chance at all you and Seeley could meet Sully at a scene? There was a triple shooting that has the Bureau's Tech Team tied up, and Clark's away on business until tomorrow. I know that…"

I looked over at Booth, and he gave a small nod. Good, I was planning on saying yes, anyway.

"Send me the address, we'll meet Sully there. We're already in the truck."

"Thanks, I'll send the van and our techs."

Booth pulled out his radio.

"22705."

"Dispatch. Booth!"

"Dispatch, received call from Jeffersonian, confirm 22709 en route and will meet at the scene?"

The radio crackled.

"22705, confirm. 22706 en route?" He frowned.

"22706?"

"Dr. Brennan? Cullen assigned her a number." Shooting a look at me, he spoke into the radio again.

"22706 en route with 22705."

My phone buzzed then, and I checked it. I leant over, until Booth handed me the radio.

"Dispatch, 22706 confirm address…" I read off the information Cam had sent me.

"Confirm, 22706. And … good luck."

"Thanks, Dispatch. Out."

I looked over and grinned. "I'll have a gun any day now."

- - -

We met Sully at the scene. I was glad Booth had taken to carrying one of my kits in his truck, since it made it possible for me to begin reviewing the remains before the Jeffersonian van arrived. A skeleton, well-scavenged, had caught in one of the tidal bends of the Potomac, and was sighted by a jogger. As we were just getting out, Sully pulled in, looking tanned but otherwise the same. A lot had happened since I'd seen him last, which was putting it mildly. I was sitting on the tailgate of the truck, kicking off my shoes and trying to fold my skirt into the coverall, when Booth headed Sully off on his way over to me, and they headed over to the police officers standing at the tape.

"Seeley? Rubber bands?" I called, and looking back, he yelled "glove compartment" before turning back to the officers.

I finished kitting up, and pulled on my boots. Before I closed up my kit, I looked down at it, then made up my mind. Swallowing my pride, I pulled a mask out and hung it around my neck, leaving it loose until I got closer to the body. Booth nodded grimly as he took in the mask, then leaned in to kiss my forehead. Sully took all this in, then leant over to kiss my cheek. "Tempe."

"Hey, Sully." I patted him on his arm, then pulled up my mask and slipped on my gloves. Pushing up the tape, I headed in. "What have we got?" I called, as the two ran to catch up with me.

The Jeffersonian van arrived ten minutes later, and Sully and Booth gratefully yielded the plastic evidence bags I'd been making them hold to the lab techs who'd spilled out of the truck. I was wondering how I'd handle the remains and the photos when I heard a voice behind me. "Dr. B. I've got the camera, what do you need first?"

"Jack," I said, surprised. "We must be really short staffed."

"Nah. Mold, river water, decomposed flesh and foreign animal matter? It's a perfect Monday! Plus, I couldn't stay away from my favorite forensic anthropologist!"

I laughed, as Jack patted me on the back. "Hodgins, no handsies with the wife!" growled Booth. Sully's eyebrows shot up—the level of banter had certainly changed since he'd last worked with us.

"Dude, you're not married yet."

"Yeah, but I have the gun."

"Point taken."

"Are we going to banter over me as a sexual object all day, or are we going to work? Or… do you two really just want to be left alone? If so, Sully and I can finish up here." I shot Sully a wink, and then turned to Booth. "Don't let me keep you from Hodgins. I know you want him."

Sully was game. "They'd make a cute couple, Tempe."

"Watch it, Sullivan."

Hodgins smiled, then turned back to me. "So where do you want me to start?" I smiled, and pointed to the matter piled closest to the water under the body. It was nice to be back to work.

Forty-five minutes later, I gave the okay for Jack to have the techs bag the remains. Standing, I eased the crick in my back and rolled my neck until Booth came over to rub out the kink in my back as he continued talking to Sully about next steps. It felt natural, being back at work, with the added benefit of both being able to say and do what we really felt. No one seemed to be looking askance at us; even Sully had seemed to accept the change. I turned and winked at Booth, and headed back to the truck to undress.

Opening the tailgate, I left my mask and gloves on as I sat down to take off my boots, unzip my coverall, and take off my gloves. I tossed them all in the decontam bag I kept in my kit, and then scooted further back into the tailgate to pull off the coverall and settle my skirt, which had hiked up and rumpled. I slid forward, pushed my feet back into my clogs, and dug into my kit for the antibacterial gel I rarely used. But now, it was going to have to be a given. It would be the cruelest irony if the chemotherapy worked, but then I got a bacterial infection from remains. Once I'd finished rubbing the gel into my hands, I pulled off the mask and threw it into the bag.

Booth and Sully were wandering back over to the truck as I stood and smoothed my skirt again. They had already discarded the gloves I'd made them put on while they helped me bag evidence, and Booth was clearly coming in for a kiss. Frowning, because I knew I was about to upset him, I waved him off before he could touch me, container of antibacterial gel in hand. "Booth, no. Here." His jaw tightened, but he cupped his hands as I squirted some gel into his palms. Sully, his face solemn, did the same.

To forestall them saying anything, I started itemizing my findings. "Female, 19-20. No children. Apparent strangulation, the hyoid is broken. I won't be able to tell if it was manual or assisted until we get some x-rays, but I'd lay my money on manual-- there were some radiating fractures on the sternum and scapulae that seem to indicate significant force applied to the body while it was in a prone position. Occupational stress markers on the right shoulder, wrist, and elbow, as well as some old hairline fractures to the wrists and both ulnae. Significant wearing of the cartilage on both patellae, evidence of tendon injuries on the right ankle. No obvious defensive fractures, it's possible the victim was not conscious at the time of strangulation. Teeth are intact, so an ID should be fairly straightforward." Booth had moved to stand beside me and was rubbing my back as he listened.

"Sounds like a basketball player," offered Sully.

Booth nodded. "Right arm shooter and right pivot foot. I'll call it in, get Charlie started on missing persons." Turning to Sully, he said, "Meet us at the Jeffersonian?" then walked to the front of the truck and radioed in.

Sully gave me a look, and was clearly about to start in on a sympathy speech. "Don't," I said. "I know, I appreciate it, you don't have to say anything. The fact that you offered to come back and help says it all. I . . . we . . . really appreciate it. And I'm glad it's you-- you at least are familiar with the team, can get along with them. They'll need that. And . . . I don't want him going out alone."

"He's a good man," he started.

"The best."

Deciding a change of subject was in order, I asked, "Where are you staying?"

"Hotel, for now. The Bureau's putting me up until the end of the week, but I have to find a place. Mine is still subleased, and the tenant won't be out for another three months."

I thought for a moment. "You could stay at my place, if that's not too weird. Russ and Amy sometimes stay with me when they are in town for Hallie's treatments, but I could always put them up at a hotel, or they can stay at our place."

"It would be a little weird, but I appreciate the offer. I'll think about it."

"Think about what?" asked Booth, reappearing around the side of the truck. "Sully's hotel stipend runs out at the end of the week. I was offering him my place for the time being, or maybe until his tenant's sublease is up."

"Good idea," he said, turning to Sully. "Bones' brother and family can stay at my place if need be, I've got Parker's room and the pull-out sofa, and that way you don't have to blow any of the big bucks the Bureau is paying you on rent."

"You don't mind?"

"It's no weirder than being partnered with you," he smiled, slugging Sully on the arm, and smiling further as Sully staggered a little. "You don't need to be running all over town trying to find a place to stay, and it'd be helping us out anyway, somebody to keep an eye on the place until it sells or . . . whatever."

"If you're sure..." he replied.

"I'll make you a set of keys and call the superintendent," I said. "I can box some more things up Thursday if it's not too busy on this, and you can have it after then." One of the officers called over to Booth, then, and he walked off.

Sully sighed. "Tempe, are you up to this?"

"What, the case? Of course. I'm fine, really. I'll work it myself until Clark can assist, and then work it with him and you two so he can get comfortable with your working styles. There's no reason I shouldn't be able to do some field work, even with a slightly reduced schedule, and I'll keep Clark involved on the cases I'm working so that if there's need, he can pick up where I left off. He's very bright, and has good instincts. The quality of the work won't suffer-- you two should still be able to keep up the close rate."

"I'm not worried about the close rate."

"I know. But really-- I don't want to talk about it, though I appreciate your concern, I do. We've chosen a course of treatment, and there's not much else to do except get started, and make sure that other things are . . . taken care of. I just . . . don't want to dwell, there's no point, and it won't help get these cases closed, which is what I want to focus on. Catching the bad guys is what we do. Cancer is just an unwelcome interruption."

"Alright-- I won't mention it again. But you know I'm here, if you want to talk."

"I appreciate it," I said, then gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He hugged me back, and I patted him between the shoulder blades as he sighed a little. "It'll be fine. I'm too stubborn to be anything but right."

"Sullivan!" we heard. "Don't make me shoot you our first day out on the job!"

We disengaged, and Sully rolled his eyes. "Alpha-male."

"Tell me about it."

- - -

Back at the lab, the body had already been laid out on the examination table by one of the graduate students Cam and I had agreed might work out. It was nicely done, I noticed, climbing the stairs to the platform and donning my lab coat. I pulled on a pair of gloves, rummaged around for a mask, put it on, and joined Cam in inspecting the skeleton. Booth took up his usual position behind my shoulder.

I nodded to the graduate student, who was standing back a bit. "Did you do this?"

She gulped a bit, then nodded. "Yes, Dr. Brennan."

"Come here," I said, raising an eyebrow at Cam as the student approached nervously. I took in her name tag, then said, "Anne. I've eliminated grad students from my diet. You did a nice job on this. Tell me what you see."

She detailed the hyoid and sternal fractures, the occupational markers on the right arm that I'd found at the scene. I heard Sully make his way up to the platform, and watched as he came to Cam's side of the table, standing close enough to her that their hips were nearly touching. He moved fast, I thought to myself, then brought my attention back to what Anne was saying. "Anything else?"

"There are some anomalies at the knees and a few old fractures of the wrists and ulnae."

"Good." I drew her attention to the frayed cartilage underneath the patellae, how the right knee was more worn than the left, and then drew her attention to the ankle. "See, here, the tendon thickening at the ankle?"

"Repeated strains?"

"Mmm-hmm. What about the arms? Do they tell you anything?

"Old injuries, nothing fresh."

"So, what does that tell you about the death?"

"No apparent struggle."

I had her help me turn the skeleton, asked her to take a look. She found the scapulae evidence, and I asked her to posit a cause. I was able to lead her to the probable cause I'd determined at the site, and she was beaming with pleasure by the time she suggested, "so, someone pushing down on the throat while the body was prone?"

"Correct. Now, did you do dental xrays?" She had, so I asked her to check with Charlie to see if he'd come up with anything in Missing Persons for dental records.

Cam, Hodgins and I discussed particulates, and he swabbed the posterior skeleton and tissues for evidence. Cam gathered samples for DNA and to measure blood oxygenation, as well as whether the victim had been drugged, and Booth, Sully and I retired to my office, after I removed my mask and gloves and disinfected my hands. I was going to go through a lot of that stuff in the next few months, I realized.

"You two go back to the Hoover. I'm going to look over the x-rays, see what Hodgins and Cam come up with. I have some other things to do in the meantime."

Booth looked like he was going to fight me on it for a moment, and I gave him my new and improved "_Seeley, so help me_," Evil Death Glare. He shrank, and Sully, catching the look, did too. They both promptly stood and beat a retreat for the door, then waited. Hah. I was back, baby. Baby? I'd been hanging out with Jack too long.

"Go. Bring me some lunch around one," I ordered. Turning in the door, Booth looked over his shoulder.

"Do you have your..." Oh. I'd forgotten-- I'd assumed we'd be going back to his place, and had left my drugs at home. "No. I'll uh, have Angela drive me back." He hesitated again. "Go. Get out of here. I will be FINE."

Angela appeared in the doorway, then, peeking over Sully's shoulder.

"Hey, Hekyl and Jekyl, let Angela through." They both looked startled, then parted, and Ange ducked through.

"Bren. Did you just make a cartoon reference?"

"I did. All that TV in the hospital," I grinned. "Can you run me back to Booth's quickly? I forgot something." She nodded, and I looked back to the doorway. "Out. Back to work, G-Men. Don't let the door hit you on the way out." I stood, took off my coat, grabbed my purse. "Ange, let's go."

We pushed our way back through the wall of testosterone, and I turned to tug Booth's cheek down for a quick peck. "Too damned tall."

As Ange and I headed off, I heard Sully say, "Did she just call us what I think she did?"

- - -

At one on the dot, I heard the two sets of footsteps headed back to my office, then one set of steps faded off as Booth's tread continued toward my office. "Sully bringing Cam some lunch?" I said, still reading the email up on my screen.

"Yeah. That's going to be interesting."

"Anything new?"

"Charlie got the dentals for an Emily Harris, 20. Duke women's basketball player, disappeared in March, three weeks before trials for the national team. Reported missing by her parents when she didn't arrive home here in D.C. for spring break. I just gave the dentals to the grad student on my way in."

I finished my typing, closed the window, turned to face him. "Height?"

"6 feet."

"That's about right. Have you been to see the parents yet?"

"No. I figured we could go after lunch if there's a match."

Anne appeared in the doorway, right on cue. "I think we have a match, Dr. Brennan. Would you come take a look?"

I got up, Booth following, until we reached "the bone room," as Booth liked to call the modular storage and x-ray facility. Anne had already put up the films on the lightboxes. "FBI on the right?" I asked. "Yes. Today's are here," she said, pointing with the blunt end of a pen toward the films on the left. "Overlay?" She moved the films she had taken to the same lightbox, so they were side by side, and then at my nod, laid the new films atop the old ones. I stepped closer, scrutinized the patterns. "It's a match. Would you please let Charlie know, and then print out whatever NCIS pertinents are available? We'll be in my office."

Booth steered me back to my office, and we sat down on the couch, his arm slung over my shoulder. I gave him a quick kiss, and started rummaging in the bags he'd left on the coffee table. "Hummus plate, yum. What did you get?"

"A manly and meaty gyro."

We ate and chatted. He and Sully had gone back to the office to review the few cases that needed some paperwork details wrapped up, but were otherwise essentially complete, and had done a little research on Emily Harris, on the assumption that the dentals would match. Booth brought me up to speed on the details the original police investigation had uncovered, and we began debating what other avenues should be explored after speaking with the family. Hodgins appeared in the doorway, to report that the few particulates embedded in the scapulae were consistent with a cement paved area, with flecks of red and white paint. "I'm trying to see if there are any distinguishing particles in the concrete or paint, but it will be a few hours, at least. Maybe tomorrow."

Sully appeared in the doorway, and plopped down in the armchair opposite the couch. "Cam says the blood oxygen was low, and traces of chloroform were present in the tissue. At least she seems to have been unconscious when she died. Did the dentals match?"

"They did. It's Emily Harris."

Anne returned with the printouts, and I motioned her in.

"Anne, I'm sorry, I didn't introduce you to Agent Sullivan properly earlier. Anne Bradford, this is Agent Tim Sullivan. Sully, Anne is one of the grad students who's been helping since Dr. Addy left. You'll probably see a lot of Sully around, he's going to be working with Booth if ... I'm not available." The two shook hands, and Sully flipped through the printouts. "Everything's here. Thanks, Anne." She left the office, and Booth and I finished our lunch as Sully read aloud from the report.

"No known boyfriend. B-plus grade point average, conference all-star two years in a row. No disciplinary record at the college, no priors. All-American in high school. Says she was recruited for Nationals tryouts after conference all-stars her freshman year, had been training on weekends with the team and a few other hopefuls. Made the team, then disappeared."

"Who was cut?" They both looked at me, astonished I knew the athletic term, but I wasn't totally oblivious. Professional jealousy, I knew, even if I didn't know much about basketball.

"Good question. I'll get a roster, see if I can get the recruitment records from the coach. They usually tape those training sessions, maybe we can learn something," offered Sully. "I'll call the Duke coach, too, see about game and practice films, too."

"I can take care of that," said Booth.

"Nah, man, you're supposed to be off this week. Let's just go see the family and then you guys can call it a day."

- - -

The meeting with the parents was unproductive. Emily had never confided in them about any professional rivals, and she had no roommate problems at school because she had a single in the dorms. "It was one of the few perks they had on the team, unlike the boys' team. But they got singles so they would have quiet space to do their schoolwork. They were on the road so much, they really needed their downtime," her mother had said. "She was pre-med," she added. "Basketball paid for college, but she was planning on being a pediatrician."

We promised we'd be back in touch if there were more questions, and went separate ways with Sully from their home, since he'd brought his own truck. I got a call from Cam, who said Clark would be able to come in tomorrow to review the findings.

"I'll be in around eight, then," I said, "and write up my findings so far. Do you need me for anything else this afternoon?"

"No. Hodgins said he's got to try for more scrapings to get anything distinctive. See you tomorrow."

"Home?" asked Booth. "How you feeling?"

"Fine. It was good to be out, get some fresh air."

"Bones. Rotting corpses? Not fresh air."

"Says the man whose favorite perfume is gunpowder."

- - -

When we got home, Booth went downstairs to work out, and I took a pass through the cupboards. I needed a few things from the pharmacy, and decided I would order some groceries from the delivery service as well. "Seeley? Need anything from the grocery store? I'm putting in an order..." I yelled down the cellar stairs. "Just milk, cereal, eggs, that kind of stuff. Oh, shaving cream?"

I placed the order, and sat down to work on a few more chapters. I was close to finishing the Kathy & Andy, so I drafted an outline for the last few chapters, then went back and edited the last four that I'd finished. Satisfied, I emailed them to my editor, and switched tracks to my new project. I was typing furiously when Booth came back upstairs, sweaty and grumbling. "You miss one week of workouts and it takes forever to come back."

I looked up at him. "You should be going to the gym. Maybe play in the basketball league with Sully? Something to get you out of the house. It's not good for you to be cooped up with me all the time. You need some distractions."

He looked as if I'd kicked him. "You're sick of me already?"

"No! Booth! I'm just... it's going to get rough, and as much as I love spending every minute of the day with you, really, you need to accept that you are going to be very stressed at times, and are going to need to get away for a few hours. It's just good if you're already in the habit."

He sat down on the floor, leaned his sweaty back against my legs, and rested his head against my knees. I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him a little.

"It's really hard to be around someone who's sick all the time. You need to take care of yourself," I added, "if only to keep yourself from getting sick." I kept running my fingers through his hair, and leaned forward so to kiss his cheek and neck-- his shoulders were hunched, and I could see that muscle in his jaw twitching.

"Bones, I want to take care of you. More than anything."

"I know. I'm just saying, look, I know this isn't going to be easy. And I know that I can rely on you. And I know that you're always there for me. I'm just saying, even you are not Superman, and you're going to be tired, and worried, and frustrated, and ready to shoot something. If you can try and get into the habit ahead of time of having a release valve, you might not get so wound-up. You can't do the kind of work you're rightfully known for if you're too agitated about me to keep your mind on a case."

He sighed. He'd pulled my left hand down, and was playing with my ring, twisting it around my finger. "Bones, I know you're worried about being a burden, but you're just not. You're an independent person, and I know you're already working really hard at letting people be helpful, but it's OK. Really. I mean, I know I'm not going to be able to go with you to ... therapy all the time, and there will be some late nights on cases. I'm not going to try to do it all myself, but just let me decide what's too much, okay? You concentrate on putting out endorphins and stuff like that." He kissed my palm, then added, "we have a lot of friends, and your Dad really wants to do what he can, it'll all work out."

The doorbell rang, so I kissed Booth on the head, and got up to answer the door. After paying the deliveryman, we unloaded groceries, including the sanitizing cream and wipes I'd ordered from the pharmacy. "You don't really need to be all germ-phobic yet, do you?"

"No, but better to get in the habit. I don't usually take all these extra precautions at the scene and in the lab, and it will take a little while to get used to them-- plus, I would hate to get a cold before the wedding."

"Sully was asking me about that. Are you asking anyone besides Angela to stand up with you?"

"Well, I'd mostly been thinking about my Dad, but that's not so much a wedding party thing. Why?"

"I was going to ask Jack to be best man, though I'll also have Jared, but if you're only having one person, it'll look kind of funny." He wasn't asking his brother to be his best man? He never really talked about him. Hmm.

"Cam? I was actually going to ask her, and then decided it might be too weird to ask my fiance's ex-girlfriend to be in the wedding."

"No weirder than being partnered with my fiancee's ex-boyfriend, and having him living in your apartment for the next few months. At least Cam never named a _boat_ after me. Besides, who cares if other people think it's weird? It's not like we've ever really cared what other people thought before."

"That's right. If we ever had a family motto, it would probably be 'To hell with the rest of you.'"

He snorted, and lobbed a roll of paper towels at my head. "I like it, but I bet it would sound even better in Latin." He rustled in the next bag, and came up with three different kinds of cheese and two boxes of penne rigate. "Oooh, Bones, is this what I think it is?"

"Yes, it is, and no, you don't get to be alone with it. I was thinking I'd cook for when we have dinner with Cam and Sully-- less hectic than going out on a work night."

"You have to make extra," he said. "And ham? Are you going to put ham in it, too?"

"Hey, you're a growing boy, as you like to remind me. Can't let you and Sully get outrun on a case because I deprived you of your daily intake of cholesterol and steroids."

"Mmm. Steroids. What are you making for dessert?"

"Pudding. Bones' Secret Super Special Chocolate Pudding."

His face lit up. "You're going to _make_ pudding? What's in it?"

"I don't know yet. I haven't finished deciding," I said, pointing to the different bars of dark and milk chocolate, as well as cocoa powder, that I'd ordered. "And don't you even think of eating any of that chocolate. That's for cooking. If you eat it all, I won't have enough for dessert, which means you won't find out what makes my pudding so special."

He leered, then came in for a kiss. "Oh, trust me, I know why your pudding is special."

- - -

Around 7, the doorbell rang. Booth looked through the keyhole, then opened the door. "I already saw you people today! What makes you think I want to see you again?" Jack and Angela were standing in the doorway with what smelled like Thai takeout, when Jack lifted his hands. "Two sixpacks of beer say you're happy to see me."

"I'm happy to see you. C'mon in. Although, you know, you should really call ahead of time. What if you were interrupting some really hot sex?"

Angela smirked. "All the more reason not to call." She helped herself to the dishes in the cabinets, laying them out on the island, and grabbing forks from the drawer.

"Make yourself at home," mock-grumbled Booth, as he found some napkins and pulled out a bottle opener for the beer. The dinner conversation was nothing anyone who didn't know us would find interesting-- a little shop talk, some speculation about the interesting interactions between Cam and Sully, and our plans for the rest of the week. Jack agreed immediately to stand up with Booth, making Ange squeal a little. It was companionable, and easy, and I was glad that they'd stopped by. I pulled out the Scrabble board and laid it out, saying, "Brains and Hearts," then pulled some pints of ice cream from the freezer. "I had a feeling you might stop by, so I stocked up," I said, passing Hodgins a pint of Chunky Monkey, Angela some mango sherbert, Booth some Chocolate Fudge Brownie swirl, and opening my own pint of dulce de leche.

"Okay, the only way I am playing against you and the bug man, Bones, is if we stick to stuff Angela and I would know from college. And you'll still probably kick our asses. "

"What about foreign languages? Or mathmatical formulae?" asked Jack, his eyes twinkling.

"Do you even have to ask?"

An hour later and a triple word score that put Jack and me over the top, we retired to the living room, Booth grumbling all the way.

"Seeley, you're just mad because I won the game with 'handcuffs,' don't be a sore loser." He grinned and kissed me, and nestled his arm around me as we settled into the sofa, Angela taking a seat in an armchair and Jack sitting at her feet.

Angela filled us in on her conversation with her father about the wedding-- "He knows a great local band that has a wide catalog and can play pretty much everything, but he promised they're not cheesey." We promised to write down a few songs we were interested in hearing, and Booth and Jack were trying to one-up each other about how much meat we would be serving at the reception. I sighed.

"Where are you going to put the angioplasty theater?"

"Over by the lake, the smaller one. The belly dancers have the larger lake all booked already." Jack shot back. "So-- prime rib and pork tenderloin and duck and lobster, and then maybe if we're nice some salad for the girls?" They continued to plan, and I nodded against Booth's shoulder. I must have fallen asleep for a while, but I woke slightly, and heard them talking in hushed voices, Booth's voice in his chest rumbling against my ear. "It just makes her a little tired."

"When does she start..." began Ange.

"Next Tuesday. She goes Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday from two to five."

"Three hours at a time?"

I felt him nod.

"Have you talked to your boss about..." asked Jack. Booth's chest heaved in a small sigh under me.

"Yeah. I'm planning on taking Thursday afternoons and Fridays off, since the doctor said that the side effects cumulate during the week, but I haven't figured out yet about the rest. Max teaches on Tuesdays at the prison, but can take her on Wednesday, so..."

"I'll go," said Angela.

"Do you think Cam will go for that?"

"Screw Cam. I mean, she's been good about all this, really, but I only started working at the Jeffersonian because Bren was there, and if she's not," she sniffed, "then I have my art and my programming to work on. If she wants me the rest of the time, she can do without me one afternoon a week." Her voice took on a fierce tone, and it warmed me, even though in my half doze I wasn't entirely sure I'd been hearing the whole conversation correctly. "If Bren and you can fly across the country to find Kirk's murderers for me, then I can go and sit with her for three hours a week."

I drifted again, and woke as Booth was pulling my sweater off me. "Jack and Ange leave?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry I feel asleep again."

"Quit apologizing. Here, roll over." He undid my bra, and I flopped back into bed.

My eyes wouldn't open, and I laid there as he finished undressing me. "Mmmph. Love you."

"Here. Hold on a sec, roll onto your side for me?"

Eyes still closed, I did, then felt his hand on my hip as something cool swiped across my skin. "Needle," he said, and then I felt it prick my skin and the medication flood like fire through the muscle. I bit back a hiss as it spread, and felt the needle leave, and another swipe of the alcohol pad. He smoothed the stickpoint with his thumb, then released his hand from my hip and pulled the covers over me. Before I could thank him, my dreams reclaimed me.

He must have come to bed sometime later. I woke as he laid down next to me, laying his head upon my chest and pulling me into him with an arm across my waist and his leg over mine. Poor Booth. In some ways, he needed me more than I needed him, even as I knew now that I wouldn't be able to go on without him. But at least I had Angela. He didn't confide in anyone, except me. Certainly neither of us told anything of real substance to Sweets, only enough to keep up the pretense of cooperation, so he wouldn't break us up. Booth would sometimes go for drinks with his coworkers, and he'd had dinner a few times with his friend Jon, after the Devon Marshall case, but I was really the only person who he talked to, equal to equal.

I always tried to listen to him, with my heart open as wide as I could make it, since it was so rare for him to admit any weakness even to me. I know I had hurt his feelings a few times, but I prided myself that I'd never mentioned anything he'd told me in confidence, or unwittingly revealed when he thought he was comforting me. He was so controlled, so convinced that he had to protect the whole world, and now I was only adding to his troubles. I was worried; he had shown many more negative emotions--grief, anger, fear-- since I'd become ill, and while I hoped that it was just him lowering his guard around me, I was also scared that he was actually still trying to control himself, and that what I'd witness was overflow, not actual release. Rebecca had already hinted that my dying would unhinge him, and I was afraid it might be true. I'd seen that spark in his eyes of something-- I was afraid to call it madness-- whenever I was threatened, and while it made his aim surer, his speed faster, his strength more brutal in the moment, I knew too, as no one observing us would, the microscopic tremors that would shake him afterward. Kenton, the Gravedigger, Gormogon's bomb, my father's trial-- he had wrapped me in his arms each time, and I could feel the shaking. Each time, I was frightened that he would crack in the aftermath-- and that was when I'd escaped. If I didn't? I wasn't sure he would, either.

I hoped he would hold it together for Parker, but I knew that he saw Parker as one more person to protect. Booth took solace and joy from his son's innocence, but his shoulders never completely relaxed, his smile never fully blossomed, unless we were alone. By giving him my heart, had I made it impossible for him to put his own back together if I left, all unwilling?

I brought my free arm up to cradle his head to me, bent to kiss his mussed hair and his, in sleep, unfurrowed brow. "I'll protect you. I'll hold."


	20. Chapter 20

20

20.

I'd slept a little, holding Booth to me, but woke several hours later. I'd had vague and unsettling dreams of my dying, and of his coming apart. Kissing him again on the head and sliding from beneath him, I moved my pillow into his arms. I picked up his shirt from earlier, and slid it on, inhaling his scent. Picking up the phone, I dialed.

"Bren?" said a sleepy voice.

"Hi, Ange. Sorry for calling so late. I... I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure. Hold on." I could hear Jack grumbling-- she must have brought her phone into the bedroom. "Okay, I'm out of the bug man's firm embrace. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I am. Look, Ange, I want you to promise me something."

"Sweetie, anything."

"Promise me you and Jack will take care of Booth if I..." I swallowed. I didn't mind the thought so much for me, as for _him. _"He won't... he might... I can't really explain it, but, if I'm not here..."

"Temperance," she breathed, "I know. We'll try. We're trying. When you were captured by Kenton, by the Gravedigger? He was barely under control. I honestly think if you hadn't made it, he would have done something crazy. He was possessed, Bren. Jack said that he outran the whole swat team when they were chasing Kenton, as injured as he was. He said it was like nothing he'd ever seen."

"That's what I'm afraid of. If I'm not there to help him come back to himself, I don't know what... Ange, Parker needs him. The world needs him. He's too good. You have to make sure he _stays_."

"You think we wouldn't miss you, need you the same way, Bren?" She choked a little. "Bren, you have a heart as wide as the ocean. You have to fight not just for him, but for the whole world. What are the Zacks and the Cleo Ellers and Charlies going to do without _you_?"

I was crying now. "Ange, I know, but... you know, I have you? I can call you in the middle of the night, and do this?"

"Of course, sweetie."

"I'm the only one Ange, he doesn't have a you. He has me. He needs more than that. I don't know that he'll let you guys all the way in, but please, could you try? I don't know if it'll be enough, but I need someone to try for him."

"Oh, Bren," she sobbed, "I wanted you guys to get together, to admit how you felt about each other, but not like this."

I inhaled, tried to control my breathing, prevent myself from sobbing, because I knew Seeley would hear it even in the depths of sleep and come to see what was wrong. I needed to finish this conversation without him knowing. "I know. I wanted it too, and I am happy," I choked, "but oh, Ange, I don't want it to end. I don't know if I believe in his Heaven, but this, right now? Even with everything? I'm living in as much Heaven as I ever need to believe in."

This set Angela off into a fresh spate of crying, and I heard Jack's voice. I heard her tell him she was on the phone with me, "and she might be _dying_, and she's calling because she's worried about _Booth_, and," she broke off in a wail. Jack took the phone from her, his voice rough with sleep and concern, and said, "Hey, Dr. B. Sorry. You OK?"

"I'm fine, Jack. I'm sorry I woke you. I was just thinking, and worried about..."

"The big guy. Yeah, I don't know if Ange and I will be enough, you know? But we'll try. We love him too, and not just for you, you know?"

"Thanks, Jack," I sighed.

"Hey, family."

"Family."

I hung up the phone, and walked back to the bathroom, wiping my face. In the dark with the door open, I ran a washcloth under the cold tap and patted it on my face and chest, trying to calm myself even as I worked to eliminate evidence he'd detect if he woke now. And then I slid back into bed, pulling the pillow from his arms and re-aligning his head over my heart. He pulled me to him again, sighed, and slept on.

- - -

I woke at 6, half an hour before the alarm was set to go off. Booth was still grasping me, and I struggled to disentangle myself without waking him. I turned on the coffeemaker in the kitchen, cracked some eggs and scrambled them, and left them in the bowl next to the stove as I laid some strips of bacon for him in a pan. Breakfast preparations complete, I decided to take a shower, and thanked the powers that be for Booth's ample hot water heater. I'd been under the hot spray, letting the drumming water beat on my head and shoulders, still tense from my thoughts the night before, when the curtain parted and Booth stepped into the shower, looking at me curiously. Still stuck in my gloomy reverie, I went to him and wrapped my arms about his waist, plastering myself to him.

"Hey, shh, you alright?"

I nodded against his chest, refusing to look up until I got myself under control again. Otherwise, he'd see it all. He always did. "I just love you, that's all," I whispered, my arms tracing his back. His arms tightened around me.

"I love to hear you say that."

I repeated the words, then, and started laying kisses upon his chest, his heart, his arms around me. "I love you," I whispered, between each kiss, my eyes completely full of tears and beginning to leak. I hoped the water was hot enough to disguise them. He traced my spine with one hand, and tilted my face up with his other. I shut my eyes-- if he saw, I didn't want to see it, not right away. But I wrapped my arm around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss, hoping he'd be distracted. He kissed me, sweetly, tenderly, before picking me up and lifting me until I wrapped my arms and legs around him. Holding me under my legs, he kissed me slowly, delving his tongue into my mouth, across my lips, placing kisses on my still closed, traitorous eyes, as I tried to kiss every part of his face, whispering "I love you," each time. He shifted, and pressing me lightly against the wall, sheathed himself in me in one smooth stroke. It undid me, and a sob broke from my throat, then another. He grasped me tighter to him, pulling my head to his shoulder, and whispered "shh, baby, shh" as he moved in and out of me. I continued to sob.

"I love you," he said in my ear, "you're all I need, you're all the Heaven I need." I realized he'd heard, then, probably all of it, and I cried like I'd never done before. At some point he shifted one of his hands behind my head to cradled me to his shoulder as I wept for all I was just beginning to gain, and for all that the world might lose if I took him away from them. He never wavered as he joined us again and again, as he told me he loved me, that we'd hold, that he'd hold. My sobs began to subside as he continued to thrust into me, and my trembling slowed as a warmth built in me. My release came as a warm wave that buoyed me up, and I floated, drifting, my arms still clasped around his neck as he came within me in one last, long stroke and an exhalation too soft to be a sigh. Lifting me from him, I found my feet beneath me and leaned back against the wall, my arms around his waist as he held me to him, arms behind my head, our hearts gradually slowing.

We finished our shower quietly, both afraid to break the sense of peace that had grown out of our joining. I returned to the kitchen in his robe, meditatively scrambling the eggs and turning the bacon, when he came out, shaved and dressed, and took the spatula from my hands, pushing me toward the bathroom. As I dried my hair, I decided I'd always leave it curly. I was preparing the morning's dose when he came in to check on me, and took it from me, laying a kiss on my hip before and after, then wrapping me again in his arms.

I turned my head to lay a kiss over his heart, and looked up at him, trying to put all my love for him in my expression, since words weren't something I could find right then. He saw it, and understood, and kissed me once, whispering "Heaven" against my lips.

The sense of calm, of at least temporary shelter from the storm, was still settled over both of us when we arrived at work, the first ones there. He settled into my couch, doing paperwork as I reviewed the team's findings so far, and wrote up my own. It was quiet, and I was able to work up the full report to date, before we heard the first footsteps in the lab. I settled beside him, under his arm, to proofread the report and think about next steps.

Cam's staccato heel clacks were paced by a footfall I knew as Sully's. I cocked my head, and Booth listened, smiling his "I know something you don't know" smile, and the devilish look in his eye made me laugh out loud. Exchanging grins, we waited until Sully'd come into my office and around the couch, before we began.

"_Cam and Sully, sitting in a tree_…"

He looked shocked, then flushed, then slowly smiled, like a cat with a bowl of cream. "Can it, lovebirds, she'll kick my ass if she thinks I said anything."

Seeley smirked, then responded. "I find that to be a solid foundation for a relationship, actually."

I waved Sully to the chair, then handed them copies of the report to date. "Clark will be in soon, let's all get on the same chapter before I go to New York tomorrow."

They both murmured "Page, not chapter," as they flipped through the report, Booth adding "We go to New York" as an afterthought.

"Sully and I can start the legwork today, but it's not going to go to hell between now and Thursday."

I smiled, when Anne came with some work I'd asked her to do for my seminar. I thanked her, and settled back in under his arm to read. He placed a kiss on my temple, his arm around my shoulder, and his hand pulled up my left as he twisted the ring around my finger and continued to flip through the report. Sully kept looking at us, some puzzle at work on his face, but finally, shaking his head, he bent down to finish the report.

More steps were entering the lab, and I heard the tread and spring of Jack and Angela, who appeared in the doorway with coffees and two bakery bags.

"Hey, man," said Jack, before taking in Sully. Booth looked up and smiled at them, really smiled, one he usually reserved only for Parker and I. The answering smiles from Jack and Angela told me they knew what that meant.

"Hey guys," he said, offering up his thumb. Angela came in and set down the bags and coffees, as we all exchanged our family greeting.

"Lunch?" asked Booth, and the other two nodded.

"One?" asked Jack, and we nodded in turn.

Sully looked even more puzzled as the two left. "What was that all about?"

"Family thing," answered Booth. "Here, try one of these chocolate croissants. They're killer."

- - -

The boys had begun to split up the team rosters between them when a knock came at the doorway. I put down the team photo I'd been reviewing, hoping a body/mass combination would catch up my eye. Clark was standing in the doorway, his boyish face expressing some hesitance. I smiled, and still ensconced under Booth's arm, said "Clark, come on in."

I harbored real regard for Clark. The help he'd been at my father's trial was strong in my mind, though the judge's allowance of Caroline's motion to re-search my apartment had made his excellent discovery about the nature of the murder weapon moot, and required me to take a bigger gamble. Booth, too. But he'd also been kind, and honest, and yet not shy with the facts, which was why I thought he might complement the team and whichever agent he might partner.

Booth turned then, and added his own encouraging smile. "Edison. Good to see you, c'mon in." Clark continued to stand there, looking quizzically between me and Booth, before shaking his head. What was wrong with people today? Deciding, I got up and took his arm to guide him to Sully, when he jerked like I'd shocked him before recovering and shooting me another strange look.

Disregarding it, I forged ahead. "Agent Timothy Sullivan, this is Dr. Clark Edison. Clark, Sully has worked with us in the past, so he knows how we do things and can bring you up to speed on the evidentiary preservation requirements as well as the investigation procedures. Sully, Clark is also a black belt in tae kwon do, a certified marksman, and Texas A & M's record-holding sprinting champion. He'll be an asset in the field."

The two men shook hands. "What is it with you forensic anthropologists and your deadly hobbies?"

Clark shot him a sly smile. "You can't put why you're a lover and a fighter on your resume, so mostly just the fighter stuff makes it on."

- - -

After bringing Clark up to speed, the boys set out, promising to return by one. "Cam and I will take you out to lunch," Sully offered, shooting me a wink. I introduced Clark to Anne, then led him around for re-introductions to the rest of the team.

We made it quickly through the x-rays and dentals, Cam and Jack's data, the preliminary review of the remains, and my hypothesis as to the cause of death. Clark concurred with my supposition, and made some suggestions as to means of identifying the suspect that I knew the boys would welcome. We then chatted about the case he had just finished consulting on, and Anne brought around his reinstated security credentials. He was a good conversationalist, better than Zack had been, and while I missed Zack terribly, I began to feel as though Clark would integrate beautifully into the team.

"If you don't mind my saying so, Temperance, you've changed a lot since we last worked together."

"I'm not surprise. There's been a lot going on that required some changes."

He paused, clearly thinking about what to say next. "It's not just the opening up that being in love, or being forced to really establish one's priorities brings. If I were my church-going grandmother, I'd say you'd both found a measure of grace."

"I like that description," I said, thinking back to the peace that had settled over us this morning. "Very much so. I think Booth will, too."

Clark quirked a grin. "I hope so. Your boyfriend, he's a scary dude. Which is a good thing, I suppose, but still. I would not want to be on his bad side."

I winked, and then let him in on a secret. "He's a pussycat. I'm the one to really be scared of."

Clark laughed, and assured me that measure of grace nothwithstanding, I was still "one bad ass forensic anthropologist."

- - -

Sully and Booth returned not long before one, and Clark was telling them some of the thoughts he'd had on making an identification of the suspect when Cam came knocking on the doorway. "Hey, gruesome foursome, how goes it?" she started, then stopped, and looked at me, then Booth, then me again. I exchanged a puzzled glance with Booth. Why was everyone looking at us strangely today? He shrugged. I wondered if it had something to do with what Clark had said earlier. Cam shook her head, then came in, saying "Sully and I were going to take Clark to lunch. You guys game?"

I smiled. "Cam, thanks, but we already had some lunch plans. Maybe we can all go Friday, the whole team, my treat?"

Cam smiled back. "If I didn't know you had a need to throw your money wantonly around, I'd say no, but who am I to refuse someone who wants to lavish money on her loved ones?"

I laughed. "Have a good time, guys, see you later."

Sully got up, and they walked out. We both watched as Sully positioned himself so that Cam was between him and Clark. Neither of us missed when his hand went to Cam's elbow, guiding her steps. She shot him a quick and dirty look before resuming whatever she was saying to Clark, but didn't shake off his hand.

Booth laughed, and raised an eyebrow. "Remind you of anyone?"

"We're much cuter."

Jack and Ange appeared in the doorway. "Yo, Agent McHottie and Dr. McHottersons, let's go!"

Booth looked pained. "Hodgins, I will take that from your lovely wife to be, but you? You have got to suppress your unrequited love for me. I'm a taken man. And don't go calling Bones hot around me. I might have to arrest you."

Jack just laughed. "See? He's stopped threatening to shoot me."

Angela had a large tote bag over her shoulder, and catching my look, she said "Blanket. I thought we'd go to the Mall, get some hot dogs or something. I'm sure they'll have tofu pups or whatever other horrible soy product you insist on having instead of real food."

It was a short walk; we were less than ten minutes away from the Mall, and Ange and I fell in together as the guys started talking hockey or something. "Bren, did something happen after we talked last night?"

"Why?"

"The two of you, it's like, I don't know. You're both glowing. And I have _never_ seen him smile like that this morning ever before. I mean, the man has a smile for every occasion, but that one was new."

"I don't know, Ange. I thought he was asleep, he seemed to be when I got back to bed, but this morning, he said something while we were ..." I blushed.

"Bren, you called me to come rescue from the man while he was having his way with you. You have got to stop blushing. So what did he say?"

"He, um, came in when I was in the shower, and I was crying, and then he started, well, it was so tender, and so intimate, and at one point he just whispered 'Heaven' in my ear and, oh, Ange, it was beautiful..." I trailed off. "I haven't asked him if he heard the whole conversation, and he probably wouldn't say anything, but I think he did and I think he made up his mind to . . ." I was having a hard time putting my thoughts together on this.

"Okay, look. You have to finish your sentences, because unlike you and Special Agent Mind Reader over there, I don't always know what you're thinking before you even know it yourself."

"Well, that's just it. We had talked about it a little, earlier, before you came over, except I was mostly talking to him about getting out of the house without me, and he was insisting he was fine, and then later, I called you, because I was still worried about it, and then there was this morning, so I think he's decided to try it, letting someone else be there, at least a little. But he never really said anything except that one word, and I don't want to press him on it. But I think he's going to try."

She grabbed my hand, squeezed it. "Good. But that doesn't explain the glowing thing."

"I don't know. It was just, the other times, everything, has all been wonderful, amazing, but remember how you said last night about there being a current of out-of-control running underneath things? That's been there this whole time, and I wouldn't ever say anything to him about it, but it's just been building, every time he looks at me or touches me, like he's afraid I'm going to disappear if I leave his sight for a minute, and I think that this morning fixed that, a little."

She turned a little, looking back at the two of them, deeply engaged in some sort of teasing argument about "MVPs" and "the ref was blind", their arms flailing and expressions of mock exasperation on both their faces. "He doesn't look as haunted."

"Haunted, yes. That's the right word for it."

The boys caught up to us then. "What's haunted?" asked Jack.

Ange quickly supplied, "This hayride at this farm in Alexandria that I was telling Bren I'd heard about. They have apple picking and a haunted hayride. You guys should take Parker."

Booth looped his arm around Ange's shoulder. "Auntie Angela and Uncle Jack could go too, if they promise not to make out in the back of the wagon."

"Spoilsport," shot Angela.

"Hypocritical five-timer," added Jack.

"Hey!"

- - -

When we got back to the office, Sully and Clark were on the platform, Anne standing by. They were reviewing the remains again, and Clark called me over. "Be right there!"

I ducked into my office, grabbed my lab coat, ascended the stairs. As I put on gloves and a mask, I asked, "what do you see?"

Clark pointed to the pelvis. "It's not a fracture, but…"

Squatting so I was eye level with the table, I said, "There's a slight misalignment inconsistent with the normal curvature of the spine. You're right. How did you find it?"

"I was looking at the xrays and had the pelvic ones tacked up with the upper torso on the lightbox. This pelvic one was only half on the screen, and,"

"The frame of the lightbox called your attention to the misalignment. Clark, that's great."

Sully interrupted. "Okay, and that means?"

I nodded to Clark. "Whoever the suspect is, they are tall, and strong, but not that much taller or heavier than the victim. The pelvic misalignment means that," he paused, and looked at me to continue.

"Someone may have knelt on the victim's abdomen and pelvic girdle in order to gain more leverage during the strangulation. Which means that," and I looked over at Clark, tossing him the verbal ball. I felt a wave of relief at the way he'd settled right in, was complementing the team.

"The suspect is a woman of approximately the same build as the victim."

Booth nodded. "You'd said professional jealousy. But how can you be certain the suspect's a woman?"

Clark stepped over to me to demonstrate. "Even if we assume that the suspect is a fellow athlete like the victim, and in excellent shape, women's upper body strength is still comparatively small. Because of the wider shoulder girdle, a man's center of gravity is higher in the torso, in his mid and upper abdominals and corresponding back musculature," he said, gesturing to my stomach and back, "but a woman's center of gravity is in the lowest portion of the abdominals, in the hip girdle and buttocks," he continued, pointing to the appropriate areas. I turned, and placed my hands lightly on Clark's neck.

"If I was going to strangle Clark while he was prone, even if I was bending and putting all my weight into it, I still wouldn't have enough force to break the hyoid unless I leaned into it, in part because a woman's hands are too small to squeeze with the requisite force, but there's more to it." I then raised my knee flush with Clark's hip, and pushed down, slightly. "See how the pushing from the hip acts as a lever to the shoulders, and affords more weight?" Releasing Clark, I turned. "A man wouldn't need to do that, he'd already have the extra force from his shoulders, upper abdominals, and larger hands."

Sully shook his head. "I studied kinesiology, but I'd forgotten about that. So, we're definitely looking for a woman."

I nodded. "A teammate, or competitor. In any event, someone she knew, who she wouldn't suspect would chloroform her until it was too late."

Anne spoke up. "There's a Nationals practice at the arena today at 3. Maybe you should go watch?"

"Good," said Booth. "Clark, you coming?"

Clark nodded, then looked at me. I shook my head. Time to throw him in the river and see if he can swim. "Nah. I'll write this up, and finish up some other things. I assume you may talk to the coach afterward?"

Anne interjected, "Charlie said they were assembling the films, they might have them after practice."

"I'm going to stay here, then, do some more work. I'll have Ange drop me home if you're not back by 6:30."

Booth shot me a look. "5."

"6."

"5:30. That's final."

"Nag."

"Workaholic."

"Tyrant."

"Harridan."

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

We were interrupted by Sully, sticking his finger down his throat and making gagging noises. Seeing we'd stopped, he said, "Can we go, or do you two need a room for ten minutes before we hit the road?"

Booth punched him, not lightly, on the shoulder. "C'mon, Peanut. Edison?"

I laughed. "Peanut, Edison, Atomic Nucleus. See you later."

Clark looked puzzled, while Sully flushed a little, then laughed at the comparison. Booth just puffed his chest and smirked.

"Peanut? Atomic Nucleus?" asked Clark.

Angela, who'd been starting up the platform, leered. "Cop talk. If they have a nickname, it's the opposite of some physical or mental attribute."

Jack piped in. "I don't know about Peanut, and dude, I don't want to, but Atomic Nucleus? Try Hypothetical Subparticle." Booth's chest puffed out even further, and he waggled his eyebrows at me, hooking his fingers behind his belt buckle.

Clark, comprehension dawning on his face, grinned. "What's my cop nickname, then?"

Sully smiled, and slung an arm around Clark's shoulders. "C'mon, Dumbass."

- - -

At 5:30, the boys still hadn't returned, so I asked Angela and Jack to drive me home. I invited them in, but they said they had plans, so I told them I'd call them when we got back from New York. Inside, I called my publisher, and confirmed tomorrow's arrangements, then looked through the clothes I'd brought to see if I had something appropriate. I didn't want to wear a suit, but I wanted something a little formal. Pushing through the hangers, I saw that I had brought something-- a deep blue silk duipponi dress, cut as a shirtwaist with a flared skirt that ended mid-calf. I liked the dress, but had only worn it once or twice, since it wasn't something that could be tucked into the coverall. The collar of the shirt was cut a bit longer, and the neckline opened up just below the hollow of the neck, so that the collar spread a bit wider, opening a bit more at the throat and neck than a normal shirt. The necklace he'd bought to match my ring would look nice with the dress, I decided, assuming I had some shoes to wear. I thought I'd brought my black high-heeled boots, and after a moment's search, I found that I had. I looked, and found I had a pair of black stockings I could wear beneath the boots. Hopefully he wouldn't notice until after the meeting.

I ironed the dress, hung it back up, and then decided to iron some shirts for Booth so we'd have time before the car came in the morning. I liked going through his closet, admiring his well-cut suits and his custom-tailored shirts. They fit him so well it was distracting sometimes, and even as I abhorred his taste in ties, I would never buy him anything but the most garish ties and socks if it was what made him happy. Pulling out a taupe gabradine suit I'd never seen before, I hung it on the back of the door. It was nice, and would pick up the milk chocolate depths of his eyes. I flipped through his shirts, and found a pink one that complemented the red undertones in the suit. It was still in the bag from the cleaners, so I hung it on top of the suit, then went out to the kitchen and pressed the five shirts he'd left sitting in the top of the laundry basket. I puttered some more, took my medication, and started dinner. He had tortillas and ground meat in the freezer, we had cheese, tomatoes, onions, and peppers. The store around the corner might have the rest of the things I needed, if they carried paneer... I made up my mind and got to work.

I was emailing with some of my students when he came in, locking the door behind him. "Mmm, Bones, what is that? It smells incredible!"

"Enchiladas. I even made them with meat for you, oh manliest and most cholesterol-clogged of men."

"You really do love me."

He took off his jacket, put the .22 back in the closet with the ankle holster, tossed his keys and wallet on the table, and plugged his phone in next to mine in the kitchen. "You haven't worn the shoulder holster in a while," I said, noting the Glock was settled in a holster at the middle of his back. "Why?"

He shrugged, looked a little embarrassed. "It rubs my scar, it's irritating," he said.

Ah. The scar on his chest where he'd been shot at the Checkerbox. I closed my computer down and went over to him. "Let me see," I ordered, tugging at his tie to loosen it, and then unbuttoning his shirt to pull it open. Pushing his undershirt to the side, I took a closer look. The scar tissue was thickened, and drew a little at the edges. It had faded to a light pink, but had not whitened like so many, too many, of the other scars that marked him. "Does it pull a little when you're doing pectoral and lat exercises?"

"Not badly, but a little."

I ran my fingers over the scar, pressed down lightly around the edges. "The scar tissue doesn't extend too far outside the edge of what you can see, here. If you put some arnica and Vitamin E on it every day, massage it a little, the scar shouldn't thicken any further, and what's there might even break up a little bit. It'd tug less when you move, and might even be less irritated. I know you don't like the belt holster as much."

"That'd be good." He gave me a squeeze, said "Be right back," and headed toward the bedroom.

The timer rang, and I pulled the tray from the oven, setting it on the burners. I pulled out two beers, cracked them, set them on the counter. I plated the enchiladas, and set a dollop of sour cream next to them, sprinkling them with the cilantro and scallions I'd chopped earlier. I pulled out the quick-pickled green beans and cauliflower I'd made an hour ago, and spooned some of the salad onto the plates.

Sliding the plates to what had become "our" places at the island, I pulled forks and napkins from the drawer, and called. "Seeley, dinner's ready."

Still in his shirt and trousers, but having gotten rid of his tie, jacket, and gun, he came back down the hallway and smiled at the set table.

"Gosh, June, everything looks scrumptious." I laughed. Even I got that reference.

"How was your day, Ward?" I asked, then sipped my beer.

He filled me in on what had happened at the basketball practice, occasionally letting out a groan of appreciation for the "cheesey meaty goodness" I had made him. Clark had sighted a few possibilities, but wanted to review the films that the coach had willingly handed over after practice. The women on the team had all reacted with apparent sorrow and interest when Sully told them Emily Harris had been found, but the boys were going to meet individually with the women Clark determined were most likely suspects. To make it seem as if everyone was being interviewed, Clark and Sully were going to meet with some of the women not in the height range we'd determined tomorrow.

"They work well together," Booth said.

"How did that 'Dumbass' thing go over?"

Booth snorted. "Fine. Clark was calling Sully 'Moron' by the end of the afternoon. Said he wasn't going to get into a swordfight over nicknames."

"A swordfight?"

"When, um, guys size each other up in the bathroom."

"So, did Clark come up with a name for you?"

He smiled. "Yeah, actually. I pointed out two of the four women that might be our perp, so he started calling me 'Dropout.'"

"That's nice," I said, meaning it. Booth could be insecure sometimes about his own intelligence. "So, Moron, Dumbass and Dropout, hmm? Sounds like the Three Musketeers all over again."

"Yeah. It'll work. It's not the same, but ... it'll work. Clark's a good guy. He'll do."

"I should hope so. Do you have any idea what he's charging the Jeffersonian to consult?"

- - -

I called my Dad after dinner, and he enthused about Booth's parents, as well as Parker. I asked him how his class had gone, and he told me he'd given his reading class some Robert Frost poems to read. "I figured I'd start easy, with 'Birches,' but it really tore some of them up."

"'_One could do worse than be a swinger of birches_,'" I quoted. I suggested a few other favorite Robert Frost poems, then asked him if he'd read the newest Billy Collins collection. "It's good, I think they'd like it. How about some Auden? Good balance of rigor and sentiment." We talked a bit longer, and he offered to help me pack my apartment on Thursday. When I got off the phone, Booth was sitting on the sofa, reading from a dog-eared book that looked like a college literature anthology.

Looking up, he said, "I'd forgotten about that one, it's perfect." Glancing down at the page again, he looked back up at me, then pulled me down to sit in his lap, the book discarded.

Wrapping his arms around me, he murmured my favorite section of the whole poem.

"_So was I once myself a swinger of birches.  
And so I dream of going back to be.  
It's when I'm weary of considerations,  
And life is too much like a pathless wood  
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs  
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping  
From a twig's having lashed across it open._"

I joined him, lacing my fingers through his.

"_I'd like to get away from earth awhile  
And then come back to it and begin over.  
May no fate willingly misunderstand me  
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away  
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:  
I don't know where it's likely to go better._"


	21. Chapter 21

21

21.

The car service rang at 5:30 the next morning, a courtesy my publisher had insisted upon. Booth had grabbed me around the waist and was trying to haul me back under the covers as I hung up.

"No. They're coming in an hour and the shuttle's at 8. You can shower with me, but that's it, Booth."

"Bones, it's warm, and why didn't you make them come here? Why do we have to go to New York?"

"Generally, when you are asking people for money, you go to visit them." I braced myself, then pushed and rolled out of the bed, pulling him with me so that he was sprawled on his stomach, the force of my roll pulling him over and me out of my arms. From my sitting position on the floor, I stuck my tongue out at him and got up. His arms latched around my waist again, and I leaned away, trying to keep him from dragging me back into bed. This wasn't working. Clearly the threat of my kicking his ass was no longer an option. "Seeley Michael Booth. Don't make me call your mother and tell her how you made me lose a charitable endowment because you didn't want to get out of bed."

"That's harsh, Bones, harsh," he mumbled, from where his head was pressed into my stomach.

"Get up," I retorted, poking him in the shoulders. "I already ironed your things and mine, all we have to do is shower and dress. There'll be breakfast in the car." I poked him harder, then reached down and slapped his rear end, hard enough to leave a red mark. That did it. He let go, bolted upright in bed.

"Ow! Bones! Jesus, that smarted!"

"Shower. Now. Or I am leaving without you."

I was almost to the bedroom door when he scooped me up and flipped me over onto his shoulder, swatting me on the rear as he headed toward the shower.

- - -

The car service always had lovely breakfasts, and today was no different. Booth had drunk all the orange juice and decimated the array of danishes before I'd finished my first cup of coffee.

"Have some fruit salad."

"Bones, there are ham and cheese croissants."

"Hand me a spinach one, then," I said, reaching for the one I'd intended but then spying a chocolate croissant, reached for that instead.

"Hey, handsy, those are mine!"

"What about _my_ car service from _my_ publisher do you not understand? I get dibs, Booth. And anyway, there are two."

The driver just laughed. "How long have you two been together?"

"Almost four years," I replied, as Booth said "Almost four weeks," around his mouthful. The driver looked confused.

"Which is it?"

"Both," we replied.

- - -  
I made the mistake of allowing Booth to help me out of the car once we'd arrived. While the driver was getting our briefcases and coats from the trunk, I'd scooted forward in order to grab the doorframe. He'd taken the hand I put out to him, then growled. "Temperance..."

I looked down. Shit. My dress had ridden up, and you could clearly see the top of my stocking. If he found out I was wearing a navy blue replica of the lingerie I'd been wearing the night with the necktie? We were totally going to miss the meeting. Fortunately for me, the driver came around to the side of the car before Booth could push me back into the car, or up against the car, or on the sidewalk, or ... hoo, my mind was running away with me.

Booth composed himself, and I pulled my skirt down, before he helped me out to the pavement. Taking my briefcase from the driver, I thanked him and gave him a tip, then shouldered my bag and took my coat from Seeley, who was standing there, clearly debating whether there was time to pull me into a bathroom somewhere between there and the gate.

"Ready? We have e-tickets, so we don't have to check in."

He moved his bag and coat to his outer arm, and placed his hand at my back, guiding me forward. As we walked past the curbside check in and entered the terminal, he bent down and said in my ear, "Temperance, tell me you're not wearing the navy blue version of a certain set of lingerie I saw in the bedroom this morning, that just happens to match the color of your dress?"

Oh dear. I shot him an alarmed look. "Um, no, you didn't." Shitshitshitshit. My voice cracked and went up an octave on the "didn't."

"You're a terrible liar. Well, there's only one thing I can do."

My eyes widened further, and I swallowed. He pulled me in for a heated kiss right in the middle of the terminal, making my knees sag. Right before he turned us back toward the gate, he whispered in my ear. "I'm going to have to take you tie shopping after your meeting."

- - -

Booth grinned when he saw that our seats were in first class. "Bones, you're going to spoil me. I'm always in steerage when the Bureau's paying!" I smiled and sat, taking the window seat. I'd asked my publisher to try to get us a row with a bulkhead, so there was a little more legroom in front of us, because he was always complaining about legroom when he had to fly. Settling my bag in front of me, I watched him play with the buttons and root through the newspapers and magazines on the wall in front of us. He buckled his seatbelt, and stretched out his legs to their fullest, even pointing his toes until his socks, pink with red hearts, were visible. "This is the life," he said, patting the arm I'd left on the armrest between us. The stewardess came around to make sure we were settled in, and in fifteen minutes, we had taken off. I settled in with one of the back issues of an anthropology journal, and made it through several articles while Booth read and worked on something next to me.

I looked over and saw he was making some kind of list in one of the many blank notebooks I'd brought from my apartment, and was working on a second cup of coffee and even more pastries that the stewardess must have brought. I kept the notebooks, which were half-sized, for making notes about work or my writing, or anything else that needed noting. "What are you working on?"

"Menu. Song list. Readings. Guest list. Wedding stuff." He offered me the notebook, and I looked through what he'd written. The menu was a pared down version of the homage to meat that he and Hodgins were joking about the other night, but there were plenty of vegetable and even vegetarian options on the list. The song list had a fair number of his favorite classic rock songs, but there were some other songs he'd apparently known were my favorites, and there were quite a number of jazz and popular standards on the list. I quirked an eyebrow.

"Never pegged you for a Billie Holliday fan."

"Still waters run deep, Bones. My parents love that stuff, gotta have something for them to dance to."

The list of readings gave me pause, three non-religious items catching my eye, one of them familiar. "This isn't all scripture?"

"No. There are usually five, sometimes six readings in a wedding mass, but only three of them are scripture these days. Do you know those other two?"

"The first two, yes. I've heard of the second one, but never read it."

"I have it at home, I'll read it to you."

I turned to the guest list. My family and his were listed, as well as the Squint Squad, including Sully and Clark and Anne. He'd listed his friend Jon and his wife, and three other names I thought I'd heard him mention were Army friends. Rebecca, Parker, Brent. Some people from the FBI, including Cullen and Charlie, Ed the firing range director, Amelia from dispatch. Caroline Julian. A few names I didn't immediately recognize. I pulled out a pen, and thought for a moment. My editor, my publisher. My karate instructor. Caroline's ex-husband, who'd done so well by my father. Henry and Delia? The nurses?

"I can't think of many more I'd want to invite. Maybe some announcements to some other people, but I don't want a mod scene," I thought aloud.

"Mob scene, mob. No, I don't either. What do you think, thirty-five, tops?"

"Better plan for forty, in case some people have dates. Who are these last three?" I pointed to the names I hadn't recognized.

"Friends who were in Kuwait with me, when... " Oh. When he'd had his feet broken. I looked him in the eye and nodded, saving him the need to explain further.

"Will they come, do you think?"

"I don't know. It's been a while since I talked to them, but maybe."

"You should call them when we get back. I'm sure they would love to hear from you."

He was quiet, then said "Will you keep me company when I call?"

"You never have to ask."

I made some further notes to the song list, and thinking, added some other ideas to the list of readings. If secular readings were alright, then I hoped he would agree that there was one that would be perfect. He was reading over my shoulder as I noted the title.

"Sonnet Twenty Two? Is that the one that starts '_When our two souls stand up erect and strong_?'"

I nodded. "Too sappy?"

"No. Perfect. '_Contrarious moods of men recoil away/And isolate pure spirits_,'" he mused. "Maybe even for the benediction, or vows? She's one of my favorites."

"You know your poetry, Agent Booth."

"I was an English Literature minor in college. My capstone seminar was a comparison of themes in Romantic and Twentieth Century poetry. My paper was an analysis of parallel themes in Shelley and Neruda. Of course, Shelley was a jackass to the ladies in real life, but his writing is nice."

"Seeley, only you would call Shelley a jackass."

"And yet appreciate '_Hymn to Intellectual Beauty_.'" I smiled, and took his hand. If I had a thousand more years to spend with him, there would still be things to learn.

The stewardess came around shortly, and collected our coffee cups. I pulled up my seatback, and then poked Booth until he did the same.

"Shrew."

"Lazybones."

"Wench."

"Bully."

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

- - -

The meeting went well. The manufacturers' representatives, public relations directors all, actually seemed interested in the Foundation's goals from the outset, and one of them turned out to be a fan of my books. I had liked her best, even before she told me jokingly that she was probably responsible for a good portion of my first-day sales on each book. Her comments and questions were specific but unobtrusive, and I decided I'd get her card after the meeting, even if her company decided not to make a donation. Of necessity, I had explained the reasons for my personal interest in the subject, and then spoke more generally about the foster care experience and the socio-economic situation of many foster families. Karen, my publisher, mentioned a matching scholarship fund, dollar for dollar for the write-off value of donated items, and Booth quoted some statistics about how often foster children were victims of violence.

"Though many people think it's the reverse, in fact, far more foster children are victims of crime as either children or adults than commit crimes themselves. Bones and I have actually had to investigate several murders in which foster children were victimized. The cases are difficult any time they involve children, but when it's a child who goes out of this world thinking they are unwanted?" He shook his head.

I explained about the other goals of the Foundation-- the tutoring and primary school tuition scholarships, the discretionary grants to lower-income families, my thoughts about eventually working with other children's charities to obtain public donations. One of the representatives, who had been polite but had asked a few questions, interrupted me. "I don't get this discretionary fund thing. Foster parents have to work, don't they? And they get a stipend from the state for taking the children in, correct? What's the purpose of the extra money?"

"Foster parents are most often from working and lower middle class families, and while they fall above the income threshold for federal assistance, there is often very little spending money. Some of these families are hosting sets of siblings, and the money for taking additional children is not dollar-for-dollar. A lot of the little luxuries that kids think are necessities can fall by the wayside. Money for field trips, presents for classmates' birthday parties, a little spending money, new clothes at the start of the school year? They aren't as critical as a roof over their heads, food on the table, and a kind word and a gentle hand, but to a child, they can seem like the difference between the sun and a snowstorm."

I paused, then looked around the table. That had been a little more poetic at the end there than I'd intended, but I think I'd made my point. Booth squeezed my leg under the table. My publisher handed around the Foundation prospectus she'd arranged to have printed, as well as copies of our two and five-year plans. Amelia, the P.R. director who I had taken a shine to, flipped through the prospectus, then closed it and looked up at us with a smile. "It will take a year to re-align our factory outlet and seconds retailing operations, but for now, I'll be glad to commit 30 of our "imperfects" from our low and mid-priced lines, plus 50 of the "imperfect" schoolbag lines, across all price points. We can increase the percentages after we've made some internal adjustments." I did the numbers in my head-- that was more than enough to take care of the tri-state area, even if the other two didn't commit.

The representative who'd asked about the discretionary fund scoffed. "You can't have authority to commit to that."

"My father's the C.E.O.," she replied, coolly. "Of course I do." The other two gaped a moment more, then scrambled to give reassurances that their companies would certainly be making some kind of donation, though they would have to get back to my publisher with numbers. I decided to let them off the hook, and stood to end the meeting, shaking hands with them all. The two who hadn't had authority to commit to a number left quickly, leaving Karen, Amelia, and Booth and I in the room.

Booth started laughing the minute the door had closed behind them, then smiled at Amelia. "That's one way to leave the competition in the dust!"

"Oh, stop," she said. "If they were at all serious, they'd have had authority coming in."

I edged around the table to shake her hand. "Seriously, I'm very appreciative. It will be a big help, and it's far more than I imagined would come out of today's meeting." She returned my clasp warmly, then said, "I do have one condition."

Booth looked up. "What?"

"You have to let me take you to lunch. My book club will die when I tell them I got to meet Kathy and Andy!"

- - -

Karen and Amelia chose a restaurant that was supposedly famous for a 100.00 cheeseburger, after seeing Booth's eyes light up at its mention. The meal was excellent, and I was glad that Booth seemed to like Karen, since my contract with the publishing house was up in six months and I was intending to renew. When I returned from the bathroom after taking my medicine and slipping the sharp into the hard eyeglass case I'd carried everything in, I learned that Amelia's husband was a Captain for the New York Harbor Station of the Coast Guard. She was telling Booth about some of the station's more dramatic drug seizures, and he traded with stories about his short stint in Narcotics, before I'd known him. As we were drinking our coffee, Amelia admired my dress, and asked me where I had bought it. "It's vintage," I said. "I bought it at a small place in Arlington. Shall I send you the link to their website?"

"Please. Oh, if you love vintage clothing, and you have the figure for it, there's actually a store two blocks over that you will love. Tons of shirtwaists, nightgowns and lounge-wear, some Jackie-O era casual sets. I saw a green dress there yesterday, actually, that would never fit me, but you, it might. I'd love to go over there and see if it fits you, if you have time."

I looked at Booth and he shrugged. "The car's not meeting us until 5," I said, doubtfully. I'd never been shopping with Booth, and I wasn't sure if he'd get bored. Amelia interpreted the look and said, "Oh, there's plenty of time. And I actually buy a lot of things for my husband there. He's a fan of retro bowling shirts and ties, and they have a great selection."

Booth smiled, a slow, lazy smile that I knew spelled trouble. "Ties?"

- - -

Karen had left us to go back to the office, and I told her we'd stop back in her office at 4. Amelia walked us to the store she had mentioned, after slipping between us and taking our arms to pull us along with her. When we got to the store, we were immediately confronted with a rack of the most horrible ties I'd ever seen in my life. Booth was delighted, and showed me a silk navy blue tie with silver rocket ships and black asteroids on it, waggling his eyebrows, as Amelia dragged me back to the women's section. I smiled and followed her, using all my willpower not to come right there in the store as he waved the tie at me again from across the floor.

The green dress Amelia mentioned was perfect. Green silk organza, pleated softly, with a deep halter neckline and an empire waist, the skirt flaring gently to mid-calf. It fit wonderfully, and I went back out to the racks to look for more. There was a vintage red Balenciaga suit in melton wool that I couldn't resist, and I spotted a dark maroon Herve Leger dress from the 80s in the famous "bandage" style. I'd never seen one up close, and it looked to be my size, so I pulled it off the rack. Amelia looked at it and exhaled. "Oh, God, I could never wear that. But I bet it would fit you like a second skin."

Inside the dressing room, I contemplated the dress. If I ever got it on, it would be so tight that it would put Roxie, my Vegas alter ego, to shame. That decided me. The dress was actually not difficult to put on. The fabric was stretchier than it looked, but it also pulled tightly against every curve. Looking in the mirror, I realized that the bodice, which was already cut low, would cover my nipples with only an inch to spare. Turning to the side, I saw that my breasts had been pushed up and in, and were threatening to spill out of the fabric. I tugged the bodice a little, and debated. Double stick tape would do it.

I stepped out of the dressing room just as Booth strode over in a vintage shirt and pants that Tony the Tiger would have begged his sugar mama to buy him. "Whoa," he said, coming to a halt. His eyes roved up and down my body, taking in all the curves the dress so prominently displayed, before looking me in the eye again. "Whatcha found yourself there, Roxie?" he asked, as I laughed and cooed "Ooh, Tiger, you like it?" His eyes going dark, he simply said "Yeah." Amelia looked perplexed.

I turned and smiled. "Sorry, private joke. We had to go undercover in Vegas once." Turning to Booth, I asked "Did you find anything else?" He laughed. "A couple of things. You're going to hate them all."

I went back into the dressing room, and met Booth and Amelia at the cash register. Booth had actually gotten quite a few things-- some more "Tony"-style shirts, some belt buckles, the pants he'd had on earlier, and way, way too many ties. The salesgirl, recognizing me, had squealed and pulled out a worn paperback copy of "Red Tape, White Bones," and asked me to sign it. I did, and then she turned to look at Booth, who'd re-donned his taupe suit and pink shirt, and was adjusting his I.D. badge on his belt as he waited for the girl to ring our packages. "Ohmigod," she said. "Are you ... him?" He looked puzzled. The girl was clearly starstruck, and kept looking back at the dedication page that I'd just signed.

"He is," I said.

The girl squealed, dropped the book on the floor, and ran to the back of the shop, clearly talking to someone. "Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod! You'll never believe who's in the store! Temperance Brennan and that Agent she dedicates all her books to! Ohmigod! She's so beautiful! He's so handsome! Ohmigod! Youhavetocomesee!"

Booth's jaw dropped open, and Amelia laughed. "First time being a celebrity, Agent Booth?"

The salesgirl came running back out, followed by an older woman who was smiling at the girl's enthusiasm. The girl immediately latched onto Booth, and started shooting him questions about being in the FBI, her questions liberally punctuated with "Ohmigods." The older woman smiled, introduced herself as the owner, and said "You'll have to forgive her, you're her favorite author. Although she spends more time talking about "Andy" than "Kathy," if you know what I mean." I laughed, and she began to ring up our purchases. At some point, the girl became overexcited, and ran off to the bathroom to hyperventilate, allowing Booth to return to the register. The owner had just read out the tally, and I was reaching for my purse, when Booth put his hand on my arm.

"I'll get it, Bones. I haven't gone shopping in a long time."

He paid for the items, and the owner started to bag them before looking back at us. "You're in D.C., correct?" Booth nodded. "Why don't I ship these back overnight, and then you don't have to carry them on the plane. We offer free shipping to all our customers," she added.

Booth smiled. "That would be great." He pulled out his business card, and said "Just send them to the Hoover Building, to my attention. They'll get to me." Thinking a moment, he leaned over the counter, saying "Oh, wait, there's one thing I want to take with me." He sorted through the pile of things on the counter, coming up with the blue, silver, and black tie he'd shown me when we'd first entered the store. "This, I'm not letting out of my sight." Then, looking back at me again, he turned back to the counter and pulled out three more equally garish, and now equally terrifying ties, waving each one at me before smoothing his hand over them, laid out on the counter.

"Do you need a bag?"

Booth shot me a "_Five times is nothing, I'm going for seven with these babies_," look, then replied as he rolled them together, and put them into my bag.

"No-- Bones will hold on to them for me, won't you, Bones?"

- - -

Those damned ties distracted me the whole flight home. "_Temperance! You're going to have the brain capacity of a beet by the time tonight is over!_" they cried. "_You should have listened to him when he warned you about granny panties and tights!_" they mocked. If I thought it would have done any good, I would have thrown them away, but I'd been working with him for three and a half years now, and had only seen him wear the same tie twice, maybe a dozen times over the course of our partnership. I was, to put it succinctly, going to be royally screwed.

- - -

The same driver who'd picked us up this morning was waiting for us when we arrived home, and greeted us with a wave. "Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth, good to see you again." He and Booth chatted about something called "box scores" and "standings," and I returned a few calls that I had let go to voice mail when we were shopping. Dropping us at home, he gave Booth his card, saying "I have my own business on the side, if you ever need a car, I'm cheaper than these guys." Booth slipped him a tip and put the card in his breast pocket. Walking up the front walk, he said, "Want to go get dinner?" I agreed, and we dumped our briefcases inside the door before heading back out. Booth took my car, opened the passenger door for me, and then closed it after I sank back into the low-slung seat.

"What are you in the mood for?"

"I don't know. Didn't Jack mention a new Bistro around the corner from the diner?"

"He did."

He'd fallen into a solemn mood, and I guessed he was thinking about making the calls we'd discussed. I was content to be quiet-- he'd talk when he was ready. I rested my foot against his under the table while we worked on our appetizers, and as I was finishing my soup, he looked up.

"You know, when you go through something like that ... with ... afterward ... it's hard to..." He stopped. His jaw was set, but he was giving me that look that he'd given me in the cemetery years ago. I hadn't known what to say then without putting my foot in it about how I didn't think he had anything to feel guilty about, so I'd just laid my hand on his arm, so he would know I wasn't going to react in horror to what he'd had to do. I thought I might have a better response now, and I looked back at him, willing him to know I wouldn't think less of him for admitting to being merely human.

"You care deeply about the people you'd already been through a lot with, and took turns relying on, and then you go through even more, and all the doubts and fears and shame and guilt that have nothing to do with them overshadows the friendship that was there before everything went to Hell."

He nodded, and his jaw unclenched a little. He started to say something else, then stopped.

"Booth. Don't you think they probably feel the same way? What would you say to them if they were?"

He thought, his eyes dark. "That it had nothing to do with them, that if it hadn't been us, it would have been whatever other squad was there, that . . . under the circumstances . . . there wasn't anything they could have done."

"Sometimes things happen and we can't stop them. All we can do is pick up the pieces afterward. You _know_ that. It's what we _do_. You tell me that all the time." I reached across and laid my hand across his.

"But I should have," he started. I interrupted, I couldn't let him say it out loud.

"Why? Are you omniscient? Booth-- you take your saint's name too much to heart. Yes, you are a protector, and a warrior, and, if you have to, and never unless you do, you mete out death because there's no time for justice, but you're a man, not an Archangel, and those things aren't all of who you are. You're a good friend, a wonderful father, the most loving man, a terrible singer, a champion ice cream eater, and a thousand other superlatives that have nothing to do with protecting the world from all the bad things in it. You can't be everywhere all the time, and sometimes, it's going to be you who needs protecting, or it's you who someone else failed to protect. You have to forgive yourself, because it's _not your fault_. Sometimes, no amount of preparation or training or vigilance will stop bad things from happening. You've told me that too many times to count. Why do you not believe it when it applies to you?"

He'd been listening, intently, and initially with no expression on his face except the one he got when he was working something out that his gut hadn't yet provided him half an answer for. When I'd mentioned Saint Michael, there was a hint of surprise on his face that I knew who he was, much less his role in the Christian canon, and after I told him I knew he never killed unless he had to, something changed in the set of his jaw.

I'd tried to let him know he could be a whole person, not someone who had to shut down all the other parts of his life to carry out his self-appointed role. I hoped he understood that by doing that, by shutting down those other parts of his life, or by treating them as rare indulgences rather than human rights, he was actually undermining his ability, some day, to be the protector he was, because he was going to crack, but I'd decided that was perhaps better left unsaid, for now. If he admitted he didn't have to be perfect all the time, I might never need to say it.

The waiters had cleared our first course by this point, and I think had decided our conversation was a little too intense to interrupt. Booth's thoughts were still visibly churning, but as I'd asked him to apply the same reasoning to himself that he'd explained to me, it seemed to finally take, and he let out a long and ragged breath that I guessed he'd been holding since the first time he thought he'd failed at something. He turned the hand under mine up then, and his fingers closed around mine, as he rubbed his thumb against my palm. I pulled his hand up, then, and leaned forward to kiss the fingers intertwined with mine-- when I looked back up at him, there was still pain there, but also relief.

"You're right. I'll call them after dinner." He pulled my hand to him then, and reciprocated my gesture of moments ago. I cocked my head to the side and smiled, and he returned it.

"Hate psychology, huh?"

"It's not psychology. I don't know anything about most people. But I do know you."

"Hopeless romantic."

"Sap."

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

The entrees arrived them, and he looked down at his plate like he'd forgotten where he was. Perhaps he had, and that was what caused such a happy expression to cross his face when he said, "Mmm. Steak."

- - -

When we arrived home, I made a pot of coffee while he rummaged through his desk for what turned out to be a small and battered notebook, which he handed to me. In it, there seemed to be the names of his entire platoon, with their addresses and phone numbers from so long ago. The three names he'd written that I now knew where the first three entries in the notebook.

"Have a cup of coffee. I'll look them up."

He did as I asked, blowing the steam rising from the mug and gazing out the window. It only took me five minutes to find the first name-- he was a sergeant on the Boston police force, and had recently been commended in a newspaper article that mentioned his prior service. His home number wasn't hard to find after that, but I wrote down his work contacts for good measure. The second name took me a bit longer. "Seeley?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"What were Mark's hobbies?"

"Whittling. He was always taking a pen knife to anything he could find. He was handy." Carpenter, maybe? I found a likely match, clicked around until I found a picture.

"Blonde? Brown eyes? Scar across the right eyebrow?"

"That's him." A few more keystrokes got me the number to his woodworking shop, and then his home number, in Chicago.

Last name. I hoped my luck with the other two held out. It did. Steven lived in Baltimore, and his number was listed.

I took my notes over to him along with the phone, and sat at the other end of the couch from him, my back against the arm, and my legs stretched out on the cushions. Pulling one leg up along the seat back and putting my other foot on the floor, I patted the cushion in front of me. "Come sit." He moved over and did as I'd asked, settling in between my legs, his back against my chest, one leg stretched along the couch, one on the floor in front of mine. I snaked my ankle around his, so my calf laid along the length of his leg. Wrapping my arms around him, I showed him my notes, placing the phone along the back of the couch, within his reach.

"Daniel Hawkins is a sergeant in the Boston P.D. Mark Cardini is a carpenter in Chicago. Steven Robbins is a history teacher in Baltimore."

I pulled him closer, resting my chin on his shoulder. Taking the paper from me, he laid it in his lap, the paper fluttering only a little. He exhaled again, and I hugged him harder. Exhaling, he picked up the phone. Dialing, he brought the phone up. From where I was sitting behind him, I could hear everything. Two rings, three, then a man's voice answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hawkins?"

"Booth!"

- - -

He'd reached all three, and none of the calls had taken less than an hour. I'd laid my head against his back but otherwise stayed in the same position as when we'd started, listening, breathing, and feeling something in him relax a little more the longer he talked to his friends. When they talked about their lives right now, the conversation was fluid. When they got around to talking about their mutual friends, sometimes it flowed, and sometimes it halted a bit before restarting. When they talked about what had happened to all of them, the conversation would halt again, long periods on either end of trying to find the right words, or to make any words at all come out. But it was true, what I'd said to him at the restaurant. They all felt it was their fault, and tried to talk the other out of his own guilt and shame. The conversations were each different in their way, except for one part.

When they expressed how glad they were that he'd called, though, the response was always the same. "My . . . partner and fiancee told me I should call. She's been my work partner for three and a half years, and she insisted I needed my friends at our wedding. Her name's Temperance Brennan. Yeah, the author. It's at the end of October, see, she's gotten sick and, well, it makes you think differently about things."

Each promised they'd come to the wedding. Each got our house number and address so they could talk again before then. Steven in Baltimore was going to be in town for a national teacher's union meeting on Sunday and Monday, so they arranged to have him come for supper. After he'd hung up on the last call, he slumped a little, and I pulled my right arm from around his waist so I could rub circles on his back. He hadn't changed when we'd gotten home except to lay his jacket on the back of a chair, and I was still in the clothes I'd had on all day. His hands cupped my left hand in his, and he turned my ring around and around my finger. I kept making circles on his back, and he finally said "Your legs must be completely asleep by now."

"Pretty much. It's okay."

"I didn't even take my gun off."

"I know. I may have a permanent imprint. It's okay. Really."

"It is. Thank you."

"Beating each other into highly emotional realizations is kind of our thing, you know?"

He laughed, a tired one, but a laugh nonetheless. "Let's go to bed."

- - -

As we were undressing, I asked him why I had never seen the taupe suit I'd pulled out before. "I like it, but after I bought it, I decided it was too light-colored. I worked with a guy when I started in narcotics who was always wearing lighter-colored stuff and between the dirt at crime scenes and dust from the shooting range and whatever else you run into, he just looked like a slob at the end of the day."

"So you're telling me that you don't mind chasing criminals over fences and climbing up into rafters in warehouses, as long as you look pretty when you're done."

"Manly, Bones, handsome, virile, studly. Not pretty."

"I hate to tell you, but not wanting to mess up your suit is worrying about whether you look pretty."

"Bones, anyone ever tell you you're a punk?"

I laughed, slipped off my boots, put them to the side. "Can I take a bath, or should I just surrender now?"

He looked over, smiled. "Take a bath. I'll get you back... eventually."

I finished undressing, his eyes lingering on me as I took off my stockings and underwear, then stood and walked to the bureau to take off my necklace and earrings. "I'm going to go to my apartment tomorrow, clean out the bedroom and bathroom, put some things in the storage in the basement. Are you going in to work?"

"Probably for a bit, check in on the lab then go over to make sure the department hasn't blown up without me cracking the whip. Max is helping, right?"

I nodded. "Is there room in the basement for some more of my clothes and the books I want here?"

"There's actually a couple of hanging wardrobes down there, but I'll make some more room in the closet and bureau up here, too."

"Thanks. I think the only real clutter I'm planning on bringing is a box or two of books I need to finish this semester's seminar, and then the rest of my jewelry."

"Good God. I may have to reinforce the floor. Those clunky necklaces of yours weigh a ton."

"Hah hah. Anything else I need that I don't put in storage I can just have Sully bring in to work. I should be done mid-afternoon and can come back here to start dinner. Did you ask him if they minded coming here?"

"He seemed good with it. Said he wasn't quite sure if Cam was, ah, interested in being seen out in public with him yet, much less on what could be interpreted by some as a double date."

"Especially when it's with your exes. Somebody might think we were part of some weird, partner-swapping cult."

"I'm not swapping anything. You're stuck with me, babe."

Laughing, I kissed him on the shoulder as he bent to untie his shoes, and went into the bathroom, calling "Too bad, I think you and Sully would make a cute couple."

I distinctly caught an "Ew, Bones!" as I shut the door. Running the tub, I gave myself my last dose of the day, and rooted around until I found a jar under the vanity that held a white goo that smelled like the milk bath he'd made me the other day. I settled into the tub, and was swirling the palmful of goo in the water, watching it dissolve, when he stuck his head in. "Can I join you?"

"Of course."

He was so beautiful, I thought, as I watched him come in and shut the door. Everything about him was sculpted, and as much as I made fun of him for all the food he ate, he was actually very lean under all his well-developed musculature. He stepped in behind me. "Scoot forward."

Sliding down behind me, he moved until I was sitting between his legs, and had pulled me to his chest, a reversal of our positions not long ago. He slid forward a bit to stretch out, and I leaned my head back against him. "This stuff is so nice," I sighed. "You have to show me how to make it."

"No way. If I give away all my secrets, including my super-secret seductive bath milk mix, which, by the way, you will _never, ever_, tell anyone I make, then you'll get tired of me and run off to study some tribe's burial grounds in darkest Peru."

"No such luck. You're coming with me, to protect me. Do you know how many snakes there are in the jungle?"

His chest rumbled with laughter.

"As long as there aren't any clowns."

"Nope. No clowns in darkest Peru, I am pretty sure."

We sat in silence for a while, and I ran some more hot water into the tub. "I would hate to give up this tub," I said.

"Well, we'll just have to get a custom tub if we buy a new place."

Finally, it was time to get out. "I'm all pruny," he complained.

"So am I. You're still cute. Come on, prune boy, into bed with you."

- - -

I woke before he did, slipped on his robe, and went to the kitchen to start breakfast. I decided on oatmeal. I might not know his probably fat-riddled recipe, but he had dried fruit for snacks for Parker, so I chopped up some dried cherries and stirred them in with the oatmeal to cook. There were some golden raisins and pistachios, too, so I stirred those in along with a cinnamon stick, some cardamom pods, and half a vanilla bean. He really did have a well-stocked spice rack. I added some milk to the pot, and soon the kitchen was perfumed with the sweet spices and the starchy smell of the oatmeal.

"Something smells good," he said, as he wandered down the hall naked, rubbing his already-mussed hair.

"I never pegged you and Rebecca for nudists," I said, thinking back to Parker's little lecture to me about bodies.

"We're not, but kids are curious about stuff like that. Better to teach him what's okay and what's not when he's little, so he actually believes it. She and I both agreed on that, at least. But I think he understands the difference between in private and in public. At least I haven't caught him running around naked in the schoolyard. We didn't want him to grow up to be one of those kids who makes fun of the fat kid in class."

"I don't think he would. He's a good boy."

"You're good with him. He really likes you."

"How did he take to Cam?"

"I never introduced them. It's disruptive enough for him with Rebecca's boyfriends, though she does seem to have stuck it out with Brent."

I was surprised about Cam. I'd thought she and Booth were fairly serious, but I'd never really talked with him about it, except to tease him when I first found out. Thinking back, though, I remembered one occasion when he'd brought Parker in on a Saturday to look at the new airplanes exhibit in the museum, and had stopped by my office to say hello. Booth and I'd been talking about a few things on a case, and I'd given Parker some paper and colored pens to color with while we talked. He'd been sitting on the floor, working away on a picture, when Cam stuck her head in, clearly surprised to see Parker there. Booth had seemed embarrassed about something, but I chalked it up to the unease he sometimes displayed when Cam and I were in the same room with him. I now realized that it was probably because of the way that Parker had hardly looked up at her as she'd said "Hello, Parker," then barely responded to Booth's asking him to "Say hello to Dr. Saroyan" before turning to me and asking "Dr. Bones, do you have a pink marker?" Funny he'd introduced his son to me, but not his girlfriend.

I scooped out some oatmeal into two bowls, fishing out the spices and discarding them, and poured the coffee. "The cream's off," I said. "I'll pick some up before tonight. I think Cam takes cream, and I know Sully does. Anything else, besides wine, that I should pick up?"

"I don't think so." He dug into his bowl. "Mmph. This is good. What's in here? Cardamom?"

"And cinnamon and vanilla."

"It's good. Kind of like breakfast kulfi."

"That's what I was going for. What time are you going in?"

"Soon, I need to check with Charlie about some other things I'd asked him to do, and I forgot Marie was going out on maternity leave, so I need to stop off and get her a card for people to sign and some flowers." I sometimes forgot he had six desk agents working under him, and that he had supervisory and administrative duties aside from the cases we worked. He didn't often talk about it, though he would sometimes stop by my apartment with take out after an evening department meeting and regale me with some of the more benign office gossip.

"Are you thinking of seeing if any of them would be helpful out in the field?"

"Sully and I were talking about that. Charlie would actually be good at some more corporate, white-collar undercover kind of things-- he's a detail guy. He's good at the desk work, and he always passes the fitness and weapons tests, but I don't think his heart is in the murder stuff or the chasing suspects into alleys thing. I was thinking of talking to him about whether he wanted to transfer to White Collar-- my partner in Narcotics is now the SA for that unit, and I think Charlie'd be good at the RICO work. Of course, then I'd have to hire someone to replace him. I hate reading resumes."

"Would Rodgers be interested in coming into the office, at least for a little while? He's good in the field, but the work isn't as challenging as it could be, not as long as the Jeffersonian team is involved, and it might be a nice change of pace."

"Good idea. He's talked to the scene witnesses with me a few times, and had a good sense of what was important. I could shift some of Charlie's desk work to the others, they're really not interested in the field. I'll talk to Cullen. Thanks, Bones."

"Partners."

"Partners."

- - -

I showered, and he came in as I was getting out my morning medicine. I'd left it on top of the sink while I was hanging up my towel, and when I turned back he'd already prepped the syringe. "Thanks," I said, as he handed me the syringe.

"I don't like it."

I kissed him, then said "I know, but it is what it is." He was about to say more when I swatted him on his rear, saying "Into the shower with you, stinky."

Grumbling, he did so. I dried my hair as he showered, and pulled it back in a loose ponytail, letting some of the waves fall loose around my face. I was planning on sweating a bit today, so I decided against makeup except for a little sunscreen for my face. I'm a little vain about my complexion, and I burn easily anyway. I didn't want freckles, though Angela had some that were lovely on her. He had gotten out of the shower and was toweling off as I was finishing my routine, and caught my eye in the mirror.

"I like this, the sharing a bathroom with you thing."

"You didn't like it so much when I burst in on you that time."

"I was actually trying to decide whether to back you up against the wall and kiss you, just to make you stop yelling at me."

I laughed. "Me too."

- - -

I'd changed into formfitting yoga pants and a lined tank top, and was pouring him another cup of coffee into a travel mug. When did I get so domestic? Oh, that's right, the insanely in love thing. He stepped behind me and pinched my behind, murmuring "June, these are going to make me have to take you on the island again."

I turned around and cupped him in my hand, rubbing his length until he sprang to attention. "Now Ward, don't be too hard on the Beaver."

He roared with laughter, and I walked him to the door, handing him his mug after he'd finished holstering the .22. "Have a good day, dear. Don't shoot anyone if you can help it."

"You too. The not shooting anyone part, especially."

"Nah, I'll be with my Dad. I'll let him beat the crap out of anyone who crosses me."

I met my father at my place an hour later, having stopped at the hardware store near our house to pick up some plastic totes and make two sets of keys for Sully. I had him box up the jewelry as I pulled out the books that I wanted, and checked my desk for anything I might have forgotten. He then boxed up some of the personal photos and other things in the bedroom and living room, while I pulled my clothes out of the closet and decided which ones could come with me and which ones would go into storage. Once I was done with that, I packed the clothes to go to Booth's while he started taking some of the totes down to my storage unit in the basement and the suitcases out to my car and his truck. He came back up and started working on the storage clothes, and asked what I wanted done with the bags, belts, and shoes.

"Will they all fit in a tote?" They did. "I'll take them with me," I decided.

We worked companionably. I hadn't spent a lot of time alone with him recently, and as we moved into the bathroom to pack up the rest of my toiletries, he told me more stories about how he and my mother had gotten together. We finished right at lunchtime, and headed back to what I was beginning to call "our" house to unload what I'd brought. "Just stack it in the bedroom for now," I called, when he refused to let me carry anything into the house. "Want some enchiladas for lunch? I have some left over from dinner." He agreed, and I put some for both of us in the microwave. He helped himself to one of the cans of seltzer water in the fridge, and pulled out the sour cream. He volunteered to stay and help me with dinner, so I set him to grating cheese while I looked through my cookbooks for a recipe for the pudding. Finding two that I liked, I decided to combine them. "Can I ask you to run to the liquor store and get me some wine and some Armagnac? And cream, if they have any?" I told him what wine to buy, and how much Armagnac I needed, and gave him my keys.

I got to work on the pudding, chopping chocolate and the other ingredients. When he returned, I was melting the chocolate and other things in the microwave, and had started the milk and cornstarch mixture on the stove. He cubed the ham for the macaroni and cheese for me, and boiled the pasta, setting it in the sink to drain and cool while I finished stirring the pudding ingredients together, and transferred them to a bowl for putting into the fridge to set.

Around three, he took his leave. I bid him goodbye, and made the white sauce for the macaroni, stirring in the cheese and then layering the pasta, sauce, ham into three layers, topping it all off with breadcrumbs. I decided to prepare the salad now, washing the frisee and putting it into the bowl with some parmesan shavings, lemon zest, and the rest of the shelled pistachios. Then I cut some raw fennel into matchsticks, and set it in a bowl with a dressing of lemon juice, olive oil, salt and pepper to marinate a bit before dinner. I'd bought some olives and piquillo peppers, along with some salted nuts, for people to snack on before dinner, and I placed them into bowls on the coffee table. By then it was four, so I called Booth to find out what time he'd be home.

"Five thirty or so. The other two are still planning on seven, if that's okay."

"See you soon."

I worked a bit on my new project, then prepared next week's materials for the seminar, emailing the students the reading list. I sent the list to the department secretary as well, asking her to make copies for the students to pick up, since the books I'd chosen were not widely available in print, and the university only had three copies of each, available only to faculty. That done, I saw that it was five, and decided to take a shower after turning the oven on to preheat.

Booth walked in as I was towelling off, and pulled me in for a deep kiss. Before I knew it, he was half undressed, and hungrily laving me with kisses. I responded, the heat pooling in my center as he suckled my breast, his hands roaming on my back and sides. I reached for his belt buckle, and he scooped me up and carried me to the bedroom, dropping me onto the bed. I knelt up and undid his belt buckle and pants, grasping him with my hand through his purple and yellow striped boxer shorts, as he tried to kick out of his pants. When I grasped him and moved my hand along his length, he got tangled in his pants and fell forward into the bed. I laughed, and as he turned over, slid off the bed to pull off the offending pants, and his boxers as well. Of course, his socks matched. "Where do you get these?" I asked, as I climbed back on the bed and straddled his legs, wrapping my hand around him again and tugging gently at him while my other hand played with his scrotum. "Catalog," he moaned, as I increased the speed and pressure of my hand on him, tickling him lightly on his testicles and stroking the skin behind firmly with my thumb. He grunted as I shifted and took him into my mouth. The sound of him responding to me made the tension between my legs build, and a small trickle of moisture was pooling on my inner thigh, where I was laying on my side, sucking him. I could hear the alarm on the oven sounding, letting me know the oven was ready. Oh, well, the macaroni and cheese would only take a half hour to heat, I thought, as I worked the head of him with the tip of my tongue, and his fingers tugged lightly on my hair. I sped up and then slowed the speed at which I brought him in and out of my mouth, and felt him thicken as I rubbed my tongue on the underside of his shaft, sucking him harder and in a sudden enough change of speed that he groaned "Bones," and pulled my hair. "Bones, I'm going to come if you keep doing that, I want you on top of me," he rasped, and pulled again at my hair.

Giving his shaft one last firm stroke with my tongue, which elicited an "Uunnnhhh" from him, I got up and straddled him, my lower lips just hovering above his shaft, his hands coming up to my hips. Instead of guiding him into me, though, I sat on top of him, sliding my wetness along him back and forth, his length straining upwards against me, as I let him feel my heat before sliding forward again until he was poised at my entrance. His eyes were hooded, dark with desire, as I teased him, sliding onto his tip and then pulling away from him again. I did it again, but the third time, his hands gripped me harder and he pushed firmly up into me, causing me to groan as he filled me.

"Tease," he growled, as he surged into me again, moving one hand to my breast and kneading me, pinching my nipples as I moved slightly over him to allow him to thrust deeper. I was matching his rhythm when his other hand left my hip and started stroking my clitoris, running his fingers through the wetness escaping me as we joined together, and stroking me with my own moisture. He surged up off the bed, wrapping an arm around my back to hold himself up, and he latched onto my breast, his tongue moving in time with his fingers below, and I came suddenly, painfully, wonderfully, falling forward as he continued to suck at me and thrust upwards. I lost the rhythm, and he flipped us over, pulling my legs onto his shoulders as he increased his pace, one arm behind me and his thumb still manipulating my clitoris. His deeper thrusts in this new position hit my G-spot, and a long, drawn-out "Booooottthh" escaped me. His arm beneath me jerked me closer, and the sudden movement brought me to climax again, a wordless scream torn from my throat. Dropping my legs to the bed, he sank to my chest, my arms coming around his shoulders and my legs wrapping around him, as he slammed into me a half a dozen more times as I contracted around him. I could feel him gathering within me, when he suddenly sunk his teeth into my shoulder, sending fresh spasms through me. A guttural "Bones!" came from his throat as my walls milked him, and he collapsed atop me. He turned his head and shifted slightly so he could look at me, and I kissed him, sucking his lower lip and biting it gently. He kissed me back, sucking my tongue into his mouth, then moved to take an earlobe between his teeth.

"Is it too late to cancel dinner?" he whispered in my ear, as he hardened within me, and began again.

--  
I managed to make it into the kitchen, my noodle-like legs barely carrying me, and put the baking dish into the oven, setting the timer to let it bake until 7:30. I checked the champagne I'd put in the refrigerator and was beginning to straighten up from where I'd been bending when he grabbed me from behind and carried me over to bend me face down over the island. Pulling me onto him, he groaned.

"Bones, you're so addictive, I just can't get enough." One hand was holding my lower back to the island as he pushed into me, the other stealing under me to fondle both breasts, squeezing and rolling my nipples between his hot fingers. I was reduced to just "Aaah!"s every time he filled me by this point, and in between the washes of pleasure I began to worry what the upstairs neighbors were thinking. Oh well, maybe they'd be creeped out by all the grunting and groaning, and move out, so we could buy the upstairs apartment and renovate, rather than move. The thought was driven from my head as he pulled my hips slightly toward him and off of the island, so he could gain more leverage and speed. My whole body convulsed at his next stroke, and I screamed as he pulled me to him again, a final thrust that made him pulse inside me so strongly that I came again. He stood, gasping behind me, as I wheezed, letting the marble counter under my face cool me.

When he withdrew from me, I moaned. "I hate when you leave me," I whimpered, and he peeled me off the counter to stand me upright, his heart pounding against my back.

"Bones," he rasped. "I guess we'd better shower, they'll be here in a half an hour."

"You're going to have to carry me. I don't think my legs work," I mumbled, my vocal cords hardly working either. He chuckled, and scooped me up in his arms, making his way to the bathroom.

Of course, he took me again against the shower curtained wall after I'd rinsed the conditioner from my hair. "Good thing dinner's basically cooked," I whimpered, as his hand stroked my clitoris in time with his thrusts and he sucked at my neck. "You're going to have to explain why I'm in a..." The rest of my complaint was lost as I shrieked with my orgasm and he yelled "Oh God!" in my ear.

- - -

Amazingly, we were able to get dressed and I got my hair dried three minutes before they arrived. He gave me my injection as I was putting on my makeup, and followed his own little ritual of kissing me when he was done. Since we were staying in, I slipped into a full skirt and soft wrap sweater that was lined with a shelf bra, and left my legs and feet bare. I did don the daisy necklace and earrings he'd given me, and returned to the kitchen to find him wiping down the island, a smirk on his face.

"Where are the champagne flutes?" I asked, as I uncorked the wine to let it breathe. He opened a cabinet and reached up to the topmost shelf, where I couldn't see them from my height. Pulling them down, he set them out, and then brought out wine glasses. "Do you have placemats? I brought my red ones, they're in the bottom drawer in the island."

He pulled them out and set the island. Since Cam and Sully would probably still be in work clothes, he'd put on a shirt and slacks, instead of the jeans and t-shirts he usually favored when he was done with work. The doorbell rang, and he went to the door, checking the peephole. "Dr. Saroyan, Agent Sullivan," he mock-intoned as he opened the door. "Yo, Dropout," replied Sully, as Cam shot him a puzzled look. I called from the kitchen. "No nicknames unless Cam gets one!" Cam laughed and came into the kitchen, holding an arrangement of white and maroon calla lillies.

"Do you have a vase, Temperance?"

"Do we have vases," Booth grumbled. "We've got a florist's shop's worth."

I reached on my tiptoes to the cabinet over the fridge, and pulled out a vase that looked like it would work. I lost my balance and began to fall backwards when Cam caught me, pushing her weight against my back to brace me. She was so petite, but she'd been a cop for years before getting her M.D., and I knew she had to be strong for her size. I turned and smiled. "Thanks, Shaky."

She gave me a sly smile. "Sure thing, Grace."

The boys laughed, and Cam arranged the flowers in the vase as Sully came into the kitchen. "What can I do?"

I handed him the champagne, and gestured to the glasses at the edge of the sink. He managed to get the bottle open without losing the cork, and poured for all of us, carrying two flutes into the living room as Cam grabbed the other two. I put the flowers toward the back of the island, so there would be room for the food, and checked to make sure the pudding was setting. Satisfied, I headed to the living room to find that Sully and Cam had taken the couch, and were sitting rather close together. Sully's arm was "casually" draped along the back, close to Cam's shoulders.

Booth was sitting in "my" chair and handed me my flute. I took it, and his arm snaked around me to pull me into his lap. "Seeley," I yelped, "I'm not cleaning the carpet if you make me spill my drink!" His arm was wrapped around me tightly, though, so I swung my legs up over the arm of the chair, and nestled into his lap, since I knew he wasn't going to let me up. I sighed, rolling my eyes at him, and took a sip of my champagne.

We were talking about the Jeffersonian's annual Halloween party when the timer dinged. "Are you going to let me up, or are you going to let the Mac and Cheese burn?" His arm loosened, then he pulled me back down again as I started to get up. I leaned and whispered into his ear. "I'm not wearing any underwear." His head snapped to look at me, and his grip loosened. I sprang from his lap as he stared at me, but I made it over to the oven before he made it out of his chair. Cam and Sully followed, and I handed Booth the salad, then removed the casserole from the oven, setting it on the island on top of trivet I'd found. "Cam, would you pour?"

She took one of the two open bottles, and poured. "2002 Au Bon Climat. Nice. I love pinot noir." Everyone helped themselves to salad, Booth teasing me about "rabbit food" as we ate. Cam cleared the salad plates, and Booth plopped a huge serving of the macaroni onto Sully's plate. Cam laughed, and said "that's enough food for a week."

Taking her plate, Booth gave her a smaller serving and a similar portion to me. Then, waggling his eyebrows, he made to pull the casserole over to him as he said, "and the rest is mine."

Sully had just taken his first bite, and closed his eyes and groaned. "I'll fight you for it," he mumbled around his mouthful. "Ohhhh."

Cam laughed and took a bite, raising her eyebrows. "Grace, this is really good."

"I'll write out the recipe for you, Shaky."

We talked and finished the first bottle of wine, making inroads on the second as everyone helped themselves to more, the boys continuing to moan "Mac and Cheese" as they each had fourth servings. Sully and Booth ended up sticking their forks into the casserole to scrape the last crusty bits off the sides.

"Tell me you made more," Booth whined, giving me his puppy dog expression.

"Sorry, Jasper, that was it."

"Oink."

I filled everyone's glasses as I shooed them into the living room so I could serve the pudding, and turned on the coffee maker. I'd found some delicate-looking parfait glasses over the refrigerator when I was putting vases away, and had washed them and set them aside. I spooned the pudding into the glasses, layering it with some Armagnac-laced whipped cream, then sprinkled the tops with chopped chocolate. "Booth, come help with the coffee. You two want cream?"

Armed with yesses, Booth poured out four cups and brought them out to the living room, then came back for spoons, cream and sugar. I managed to balance all four parfait glasses in my hands, and set them down on the coffee table, before sinking to the floor in a crossed-leg position. Everyone grabbed a spoon, and dipped in to their glasses. Cam groaned in ecstasy.

"Oh, my God. This is better than sex," she moaned, licking her spoon before dipping it back into the glass. Sully shot her a sideways look before trying it, and then groaned himself.

"Yeah, it is."

Booth tried some, and shot me a leer. "Almost as good."

It was good. I wasn't a fan of chocolate, but when I studied in Paris for a semester during graduate school, I'd lived around the block from a patisserie with a wonderful chocolate cake that had tiny bits of prunes and a liberal dosing of Armagnac in the batter. The prunes weren't actually discernible as prunes-- instead, they melted into the cake, adding a further rich and winey note to the chocolate. I'd decided that if I was going to cater to a bunch of chocoholics, as I knew Cam and Sully both to be, I'd at least make something chocolate that I would like too.

Cam had plowed through her serving, and was using her finger to wipe the remaining pudding from the glass, sucking her fingers in a very sexual manner. Sully was watching her, eyes widened, then looked at me. "Got any more?"

I went back to the kitchen, and spooned out half of the remaining bowl into a tupperware container, putting it back into the fridge for Booth. Then I brought the bowl back to the table along with the remaining whipped cream I'd made. There were at least another four servings in there, since I'd made a double batch, but the three of them made short work of it.

"You guys sound like an orgy," I commented, amused at their greed and the noises they were making.

Booth, his mouth full of pudding, managed to say "Bones, this is the best pudding ever. What's _in_ here?"

"Oh, that's a secret. This is my special Bones' Better than Sex Chocolate Pudding. I'm actually thinking of giving up Forensic Anthropology and my writing altogether, and selling it."

"Mmmph," said Cam, grabbing the bowl from the table and knocking Sully and Booth's spoons out of their hands. "I'll buy stock. Can I have a spatula?"

Booth, laughing at Cam hogging the bowl, got up and obliged, bringing back the coffee pot for refills.

We sat an hour longer, Sully telling tales about some of the crazy clients he'd had while running his charters. "It was a lot of fun," he concluded, "but I was actually starting to get bored. It looks like I'm more of an FBI guy than I was giving myself credit for. It's actually great to be back working with you Squints again, and I think Clark's going to make a nice addition to the team, if you decide to go that way."

Cam and I exchanged a look, me nodding, before she answered for both of us. "I think we'll end up making him permanent-- he's already said that he's interested. But Temperance and I would like him to close two or three cases with us before we make him an offer."

"Makes sense," says Booth. "Not that I don't think the guy can't work under pressure, but he hasn't actually done a lot of field recoveries before this, and he's just starting with the cop stuff. Better for all concerned to make sure that he can not only do it, but that he actually wants to."

Cam then changed the subject to some upcoming professional conferences that had just been announced. "The National Criminal Justice Association announced its focus for this December's meeting-- it's cold cases and scientific methods."

"Who did you hear that from?" asked Sully. "Sounds like the whole Squint Squad will have to attend."

"The New York Coroner I took over for is on the planning committee, and I was talking to him about something else and he mentioned it."

"It'll be interesting," I said, "but sometimes those things are full of vendor presentations instead of actual substance. We shouldn't commit the team to going until they announce the full agenda. There's so much else to do."

"Well, Cullen makes all senior agents and SAs go every year, so Sully and I aren't not getting out of it," grumbled Booth. "Most of the presenters are morons, but there's always some interesting things."

Sully then said it was time to go, and he and Cam started to gather their things. I slipped into the kitchen, and picked up the transcribed copy I'd made of the pudding recipe. I'd also made notes in the margins of the recipes I'd adapted-- I could always re-write the recipe again on its own sheet. Booth and Sully were exchanging back slaps and then Booth started to give Camille a hug, so I pulled Sully in for a hug, slipping the recipe into his pants pocket on the side away from Cam and Booth. "Maybe Better than Sex Pudding will move things along," I whispered in his ear. He hugged me harder, and murmured back, "As if I didn't love you already, Temp."

I let go and gave Camille a light hug. "See you tomorrow, around 11:30? Did Jack mention he and I will be seeing Zack?"

"He did. You'll have to give me the address."

"I will."

We bid them goodnight, watching Sully take Cam's elbow as the walked to his car, and Booth locked up, musing aloud. "That wasn't weird at all."

"No, it was actually really nice. Maybe we'll do it again sometime."

"Maybe we will. I talked to Jack at the lab today. He said he needed a new tux, and I tried mine on and it's too tight across the shoulders, so we're going to go shopping Saturday morning. He says he has a guy. I just hope it's not too expensive."

"Grumble, grumble. It's not like you won't wear it again. The Jeffersonian gala's in November, and the FBI ball is in February, right? So you'll wear it at least three times in the next year, maybe more. Caroline keeps threatening to invite us to the U.S. Attorneys' party. And before you grouse about hating to dress up, I'll have you know I think you look very handsome in a tux."

"Flatterer."

"I also saved you some pudding."

"You did?!" He flew to the refrigerator and flung open the door. "Oh, Boooonnnnneees. All for me?"

"I might have another bowl, but mostly, yes."

The phone rang, and I picked it up.

"Booth-Brennan residence."

"That's so cute when you say that."

"Hey, Ange. What's up?"

"I was screwing around online today, and found a dress that I think would be perfect for the wedding. It's pale blue and butter yellow, and really, really nice. Could you go look at it with me this weekend?"

"Sure. Hodgins and Booth are actually going tux shopping, so you can dry my bitter tears at being abandoned by my fiance for a few hours." Booth stuck out his tongue at me as I listened to Angela cackle. "Ange. I was thinking. Booth's having his brother and Jack stand up with him. What do you think about..."

"Cam? I think it's a good idea. Do it."

"I'll ask her tomorrow, then."

"Okay. I've got to go now. Hodgins is dancing naked in the doorway and I just can't resist the Macarena. He said he'll stop by at 8:30 with breakfast." I heard Jack singing some song in the background, his voice coming closer, and the line went dead. "Ange?"

"She hung up on you?"

"Something about a naked Jack and the Macarena? I don't know what that means."

Booth just grimaced. "Those two are terrible."

"You're one to talk."

"It's your fault for being the most beautiful woman on the planet. If you had a snaggletooth, or a hairy mole on your nose or something, I might be able to cut down to just twice a day."

"Snaggletooth, huh? I'll look into it."


	22. Chapter 22

22

22.

It was only 9:30 when Cam and Sully left, so after we rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher, I handwashed the parfait and wine glasses, and left the casserole dish to soak. Booth went downstairs to run on the treadmill, so I opened my computer and reviewed the documents my lawyer had sent me for revision after speaking with Bob about the changes we'd authorized. I sent him a few comments-- he'd incorporate the changes and have someone drop off originals for me to sign. I finished another Kathy & Andy chapter, and then reviewed my outline and notes to see where I was. I was surprised to see that I was three-quarters finished, but glad of it, too. I wanted to finish this book, even if I didn't finish the new one. The book would probably sell well, even if I wasn't around to do a book tour, and the sales after my publisher's fees could go to Booth and my family as part of the general estate. Once we were married, Booth would inherit the royalty rights anyway, which would ensure he and Parker a comfortable living even if he decided to retire early. I pulled up my syllabus for the rest of the semester, and emailed the department secretary the rest of the readings to be photocopied. I might as well have them made now and bound for the students' use, so they would have the materials in case I had to miss a class or two. I checked my email, then, and was surprised and pleased to see that Daniel Goodman had emailed me.

"_Temperance_," it read. "_I have been offered a faculty position in the Archeology department at Harvard, and we will be in town through December arranging to sell the house and packing our things. I was saddened to hear about your diagnosis, but overjoyed to hear that you and Agent Booth have seized the moment. If it isn't presumptuous, I wanted to offer myself as a substitute should you need an occasional break from your teaching duties through the end of the semester_. _We will be back in town next weekend, and I will be visiting the Jeffersonian at some point during the week. I look forward to seeing you, and am keeping you and your fiance in my thoughts. Fondly, Daniel."_

I sighed in relief as I finished the email. I'd been worrying about what would happen if I couldn't finish the semester, in no small part because most of the area academics had never performed excavations of multiple burials, much less the mass graves that had been my primary site work before I began working with the FBI. But Dr. Goodman's specialty was funerary practices, and he had been actively engaged in excavations at several different sites since he left the Jeffersonian. While he wasn't versed in the forensic technicalities of my work, the excavation techniques and hands-on practice I had planned to cover at the end of the semester were certainly the same. Perhaps Clark would be willing to address the forensic aspect of things in any class Dr. Goodman might have to cover.

Booth came upstairs as I was typing my response. "You look happy."

"I am. Daniel Goodman wrote to say he was starting at Harvard next semester, and that he would be in town through December. He offered to cover any classes I might miss."

"I thought he was an Archeologist?"

"He is. But the excavation principles are the same, and he is a funerary practices specialist. I was more worried about getting someone to teach them the hands-on skills than the theory and work in the lab and with x-rays, since there are a few people, including Clark, who could handle that aspect of things."

"Do you think it will be necessary?"

"I don't know. But I want to be prepared. Who knows, maybe we'll run off to Tahiti."

He smiled, then headed back to the bathroom, peeling his shirt off as he went. Booth was very fastidious, and while he didn't hesitate to get dirty while doing his job, he was almost obsessive about showering every time he worked up any kind of a sweat. The dishwasher stopped its cycle and unlocked, so I opened the door and put away the glasses while the dishes inside cooled. In the meantime, I scrubbed and dried the baking dish. When the dishes were finally cool enough to touch, I put them away, enjoying the simple routine of it all. I missed work and being out in the field, but my priorities were shifting, and it was nice to just do normal, domestic things. I was standing on the footstool, putting away the big bowl I'd used for the pudding, and had closed the cabinet door when Booth's hands closed around my waist, lifting me and swinging me around until I was seated on the island, my legs dangling down. He was just wearing a towel, and drops of water were still visible on his chest and back. He stood between my legs, and he slipped his hands under my skirt, teasing his way up my inner thighs until he reached my center.

"You really aren't wearing any underwear," he said huskily. "You drive me crazy, you know."

"No bra, either," I replied, leaning forward to kiss my way up his shoulder and neck. He moved one hand out from under my skirt, then, and pulled at the tie at my waist holding the wrap sweater closed. As the sweater swung free, exposing my breasts, he stroked my heat with one finger, teasing, and pulled me by the neck in for a deep kiss. "You are so bad," he growled, and thrust two fingers into me, beginning to move in and out of me, his thumb pressing against my clitoris. I nipped his earlobe, then drew it into my mouth to suck it as I scratched my nails lightly in random circles, before returning to place more bites across his neck and chest. The hand behind my neck moved to one breast, as he bent his head to the other, biting and sucking every inch of skin as he kneaded the other, alternating firm pressure with light fingertip brushes.

I reached down with one hand and undid his towel, licked my palm and the pad of my thumb, and grasped his shaft firmly, stroking in the same rhythm with which his fingers were delving into me. As my hand came up to the tip of him, I ran my thumb across his head, the wetness of my saliva mixing with the seminal fluid that had beaded there. This caused him to remove his fingers from me momentarily, but I gasped as he shifted his grip and plunged three fingers inside me, grasping me from the inside out as he rubbed his thumb across my clitoris. My hand jerked on him before I regained my rhythm, and I started varying the pressure with which I squeezed him as I continued to stroke my hand up and down the length of him. His fingers found my G-spot then, and he started curling his fingers inside me as he stroked me, then renewed his assault on my breasts. Taking an engorged nipple lightly in his teeth, he blew on it as his other finger rubbed its match with increasing pressure. I removed my hand from around him, and again licked my palm, determined to hold out as long as he did. Quickening my strokes along him, I felt the pressure inside me building, so I rubbed my thumb across his head firmly, once, twice, a third time, as he did the same with his thumb. Suddenly, though, his fingers inside me twisted and curled against my inner walls, and I lost myself, clenching around him and crying out. He continued twisting his fingers within me, prolonging my spasms, but the hand on my breast was now pulling my sweater from my shoulders as his tongue continued to draw circles on my heated skin. My sweater finally gone, he lifted me with one arm off the island and removed his hand from within me just as I came again, pulling my skirt off and tossing it aside with the discarded towel. I was still lost in my climax as he set me back down, pulled me to the edge of the island, and spread my legs to enter me, then slowly withdrew. "Seeley, ah!" I cried, as he re-entered me slowly, grasping my hips and jerking me onto him with all of his weight behind him at the end of his thrust.

"Temperance, you do not encourage temperance at all," he groaned, "every time you give yourself to me I just need you more." The pace he was setting was consuming me, those jerks at the end of each stroke sending spikes of sensation through me. I was clawing his back, my head thrown back as I panted and moaned his name. Shifting his hands until they were grasping me from underneath my rear end, he then changed his pace, sliding into me smoothly and quickly, but with less force. Pulling me forward to him and tilting his hands under me until my knees came up, almost resting upon his chest, he sped up again. With my knees raised so high, my clitoris was actually rubbing against his stomach as he entered me, and the friction built, until I screamed "Booth!" and jerked with the force of my orgasm. "Goddamnit Bones, Ah!" he cried, entering me one last time and exploding within me.

My legs unfolded, the motion of them descending causing him to leave me. He stepped closer and I wrapped my arms around him tightly as we breathed, listening to each other's hearts pound.

"We're going to wear out your island," I said, licking my lips and clearing my throat.

"And the bed. And the wall. And the tub. And the bathroom wall. You haven't been in the basement yet. Did you know I have a pool table?"

"Satyr."

"Succubus."

"Greedy."

"Greedy."

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

I'd actually managed to get my hair washed while we were taking a shower when I dropped the soap. Shooting him a glance over my shoulder, I bent to pick it up, and like clockwork, his hands pulled me to him. I was definitely going to take in more calories just to keep up with all this exercise.

- - -

The phone rang and woke me, so I rolled to answer it, but it stopped, mid-ring. I picked up the receiver, and heard Booth.

"No, I was just going to wake her up."

"How's she doing?"

"Okay. A little less tired from the stuff she's taking right now, but Tuesday..."

"Yeah, Ange told me. Said she was planning on taking the entire afternoon off in case she got sick afterwards."

"I want to go the first time, but I have a stack of shit on my desk that's practically three feet tall, and I need to get as much cleared off it in case..."

"I know. That Santana case is going nowhere fast, though Clark said he'd take a look at it today. Cam and I weren't able to find anything remarkable in the tissue or particulates."

"Clark may find something. Bones'll be in Monday morning, maybe she can take a look, though maybe she'll have time today."

"How you doing?"

"Scared shitless. Ecstatic. Petrified. Happier than I've ever been. It's a goddamned rollercoaster."

"Carpe diem, man."

"Yeah. You're coming by when?"

"8:45. Want coffee?"

"Nah, I'm making a pot."

"See you then."

"Out." The phone clicked. I put the receiver down, and pulled back the covers. His side of the bed was still warm. I donned his robe-- it was much better than mine, mostly because it smelled like him. His back was to me when I entered the kitchen, and I took a moment to enjoy the view of his green, orange, and pink tie-dyed boxers.

"Coffee?"

"Almost done."

"How'd you sleep?"

"Warm, until a couple of minutes ago. The temperature in there goes down about a hundred degrees when you get out of bed."

"What can I say? I'm just too hot."

"Modest, too."

He poured me a cup, pushed it across the counter. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Yogurt and muesli if we have any."

He pulled the yogurt out of the fridge and set it on the counter, then started poking through one of the cabinets. "Honey nut granola bars. I can mush one up."

"Good. What are you going to have?"

"Hmm. Let me see what's in the fridge." He opened the door, stood in front of it, looking thoughtful. Then an evil smile spread across his face, and he turned to me, pudding container in hand. He walked over to the island, tossing the container lid in the sink, and then pulled out a spoon. All of a sudden, he grabbed me with one arm and lifted me up onto the island, pushing me down with one hand as he hoisted himself up to kneel over me.

"Pudding. And you." He reached for the tie on the robe, pulling it open as he swooped in for a kiss. I squealed as the first spoonful of cold pudding landed between my breasts.

- - -

The bell rang as we were in the bathroom, me putting on my makeup, still nude, as he gave me my morning shot. He bent, kissed my hip, and pulled a towel around his waist.

I darted into the bedroom before I could hear the door open, and got dressed. Coming out five minutes later, he and Jack were drinking coffee at the island, and Booth was setting out more bakery goods on a plate. I took over from him and swatted him on the behind. "Go get dressed."

"Yeah, Dude. Quit taunting me with your alpha-male ness."

"Hodgins, I told you. You're just not my type."

- - -

The visit with Zack went well, Jack less subdued on the way over and back. We parked at the lab, and walked in. It was only 11:30, so I peeked my head into Cam's office.

"Shaky."

"Grace." She smiled, looking up. "How's he doing?" I walked in, settled on the edge of her desk.

"Okay. I put you on the list, just have an I.D. with you when you go. Here's the address information."

She looked at it, then looked back up. "Not the state hospital."

"No. A placement worked out."

She grimaced, and put the card in her wallet. Changing the subject, I asked, "Do you think 12:30 works?"

"Sure. Where are we going?"

"There's an Indian and Pakistani place that has really good biryani and excellent kabobs for the carnivores."

"Excellent. Haven't had korma in a long time."

I walked back out, and seeing Clark on the platform, standing between two sets of remains, I called out. "Need another set of eyes, Clark?"

"That would be great, T."

I smiled. The nicknames were flying fast and furious these days. Ducking into my office, I pulled on my coat, and walked up the stairs. Gloves and mask in place, I walked over. "Which one first?"

He gestured. "This is the one you recovered a couple of weeks ago. Nothing anomalous in the tissue or particulate analysis. The fractures seem to have been caused by several different weapons, and while one is clearly a pipe and the other a blackjack, I'm having trouble determining the source of the blows to the back of the skull and posterior pelvis."

I picked up the skull, turned it in my hands, and inspected the fracture patterns. Everything was in place-- he'd done a beautiful job with the reconstruction. "Whatever it was, the blow was made with a blunt object, swung horizontally." Looking closer, I narrowed my eyes. "The hardest portion of the blow is in the middle, with smaller fractures, indicating less force,"

"Or less surface area," he followed, head cocked as I finished the thought--

"At the outside margins of the object."

Hodgins, who'd returned to his station, said "You guys are creeping me out. Dr. B., you do that around Booth too much and he'll start getting jealous."

Clark rolled his eyes. "No way I would go after T., man. Dropout would shoot me."

I laughed. "He likes you. He'd probably only beat you up." I turned back to the skull. "What is the total height of the fracture area?"

"Just over three inches."

"What do you think is the measurement of the marginal dissipation?"

"A half an inch on either side?"

"So. We're looking for a blunt object with a bilaterally tapered handle. A hand tool?"

Hodgins, looking up from his work station, said "Sounds almost like a pickaxe handle."

I nodded. "But the weight is evenly distributed across the fracture, so the axehead was not likely attached. Jack, can you look to see if there are pickaxe handles matching those dimensions?" He nodded, then left his station to enter the platform.

"Okay, so we've got a weapon for all three areas of injury, thanks to you and Clark. There was an I.D.?"

Clark pulled out the file. "Henry Clifford, 43, single, no family. Reported missing by his employer after he missed two days' work. Employer said he was a good worker, no problems, quiet, kept to himself."

Hodgins joined us in looking down at the remains. "The body was moved from one type of soil to where it was recovered, but both types of soil are utterly common in the area, and I'm not finding any contaminants that might narrow it down."

I thought for a moment. "Did Santana check his bank accounts, landlord, neighbors, that kind of thing?"

Clark looked again at the file, flipped through it. "No, just talked to the employer, so far."

I was starting to lose my temper. "These remains are almost two and a half weeks old! Does the FBI grind to a fucking halt when Booth and I are out of work for a few days? This poor man is dead, and apparently, Agent Santana doesn't care." Clark and Hodgins were a bit taken aback at my language.

"Santana doesn't care about what?" said Booth, as he strode up the platform with Sully.

"Booth! These remains, the ones I dug up before my stomach tried to crawl out of my throat? Santana has only interviewed the employer. No checks with the landlords, the neighbors. No bank records, nothing! This poor man was all alone in the world, and yet apparently, Clark and Hodgins and Cam and I are the only people who give a shoot."

"Shit, sweetheart, give a shit. Here, can I see the file?" Clark handed it over. Booth flipped through it, his mouth setting in a line, then handed it to Sully, who shook his head as he reached the final page.

"That's bullshit," he said, handing the file back to Clark. "Are we at least clear on the COD?"

I nodded. "Blunt force trauma, not vehicular, as I'd initially thought. Clark determined the objects of force for the patellar and tibial fractures, and we've been reviewing the cause of the skull and pelvis fractures. I think we've agreed that it's a pickaxe handle or some other similarly shaped tool handle." I brought the skull over to the magnifier, the other men following. "See, here, how there are more finely-spaced but deeper fractures in the middle, radiating in parallel lines at approximately half-inch margins at a lesser depth and density? It suggests a wide-handled tool with a beveled or tapered grip."

Jack added, then "Soil is unremarkable, no contaminants, and the samples are for very common types in the area. It'd be like a needle in a haystack."

Booth nodded, and looked at Sully. "Santana is Harper's unit, but I'm pulling him. I'll call Cullen. Can you work this one today if there's nothing on Harris you have to do?" He'd stepped behind me, and was rubbing my lower back with my hand in an attempt to soothe me as he was talking with Sully.

Sully nodded. "Dumbass over there has a bajillion films to go through before we interview the teammates."

I looked at Clark. "Has Angela shown you how to run the mass recognition program concurrently with the film?"

He shook his head. "No, that's next on my list."

Booth clapped his hands. "Okay. Well, Sully's going to look at the file, Jack's running a manufacturer search, right? I'll go call Cullen right now." His hand still on my back, he cocked his head and smiled a half grin at me. "I'm going to call Santana right after. Want to listen to me rip him a new one?"

"You're so good to me," I said. "I'm going to finish looking at a few more things. You'll be yelling loud enough that we'll be able to hear you from here anyway. You can use my office phone, though."

He dropped a peck on my forehead and stomped off the platform. Smiling, I imaged the fracture patterns on the back of the skull, then turned back to the table.

"Let's look at that pelvis."

As Clark and I compared the breakage, Sully looked on. Clark and I agreed that the same object used on the skull was used on the pelvis, and I could hear Booth's voice rising in my office. "Sam, I don't care what Harper thinks! Dry bodies are just as important as bleeding fresh ones, you know that!" He paused, his voice lowering a bit. "Yeah, you talk to him. I might have a few things to say to him about what he teaches his guys about proper investigation techniques otherwise, and I'm supposed to spar against him next week." His voice lowered again, and he laughed at something Cullen said. "Yeah, I'll talk to her about it. See you Monday."

Ange had emerged from her office, as had Cam, as Booth's voice had risen and echoed against the metal workstations in the lab.

"Santana," I heard, his voice deadly even, but loud. That must be his sergeant voice, I thought. "Booth. You want to explain to me why the case I handed over to you hasn't been touched by you in almost three fucking weeks?" Cam sucked in a breath. "No leads? Why?" He paused. "You had an I.D.! You don't need a COD in order to learn more about the vic! That part of the investigation is _your_ job, not the Jeffersonian's, and I'll remind you that they didn't even have any fucking anthropologists until Tuesday, _and_ that if you'd bothered to check in, you'd have known that Edison had already determined two of the three objects of force! Did you think they were your secretary, and had to call you before you had any more work to do?" There was another pause, and then his voice became even flatter. "No, Santana. I am not upset with you because my partner is sick. I am fucking pissed at you because you are a lazy cop. You're off the case." He laughed at something, then said "Go ahead. I already cleared it with Cullen."

He was going to punch something-- I could tell, the way his voice kept getting colder. I pulled off my mask and gloves, and pumped sanitizer in my hands as I half-jogged toward my office. When I got there, he was just hanging up the phone, and looked up, an expression of fury on his face.

"That lazy asshole had the balls to suggest that he hadn't done anything because the Jeffersonian wasn't working on the case. What bullshit! He seems to forget that Angela worked overtime to get him an ID from the dentals and the facial recon, and didn't leave here until 2 in the morning! I hate these bastards who think that the forensics people should do everything, and that field work isn't important any more. Jesus!"

I walked over to him, put a hand on his arm. "Sam agreed with you, right? So it's fine. Harper will be pissed, but he'll get over it. Santana will be afraid of you, which he should have been in the first place, and now we've got the case moving again."

He ran his hand through his hair, still frustrated. "I don't like people insinuating that _our_ squints are doing anything but working their asses off, and I hate it when agents make the Bureau look bad."

"You could always get the training master to move the matches around, and take on Harper and Santana at the same time. Harper's a pipsqueak, and Santana's too fat."

He laughed then, and pulled me in for a hug. "Oh, Bones. That I could." I looked over at the clock-- 12:20.

"Are you okay to go to lunch, or do you need to cool down some more?" He sighed, and shrugged, rolling his neck. "I'm good."

I took off my lab coat and we walked back out to the platform, where everyone had gathered. "Ok, lunch," I said, clapping my hands together in a motion I must have picked up from Booth. "Nothing like a little inter-agency miscommunication to work up an appetite."

Cam snorted. "Thanks, Seeley." He just nodded. Everyone went off to gather their things, and we walked over to Hodgins' station. He'd begun running a search on the axe handle, and saw my glance.

"It'll be done by the time we get back. Man, it's been too quiet in here, no _sturm und drang_ at all. Welcome back, dudes."

Booth was watching with amusement as Sully ducked into Cam's office while she was getting her bag, then started bouncing on his toes. "I'm starving," he said.

Clark, joining us, smirked as he said, "Ripping someone a new asshole is hungry work. Thanks, Dropout."

"No problem, Dumbass."

We were still waiting for Angela five minutes later, though Cam and Sully had joined us.

"Angela, come on!" shouted Booth. "Don't make me come in there!"

"Seeley," I said, "you had a _half gallon_ of pudding for breakfast. What's your problem?"

"I'm just starving," he said, whining a little.

"Bottomless pit."

"Granola-eater."

"Glutton."

"Lightweight."

Angela's voice approached then. "Yeah, yeah, love of my life, no, no, sweetie bumpkins, love of _my_ life. You're even making _me_ sick. Let's go eat."

- - -

We took an hour and a half lunch, trading dishes, telling bad jokes, and otherwise having a good time. Clark fit well with the group, and by the time lunch was over, he had dubbed Jack "Dr. Prissy," while Jack had rejoined with "Stretch." I hated to think it, much less to say it aloud, but his working style and personality were in some ways more complementary than Zack's. His sense of humor and common sense certainly made him more of an asset to the field work than Zack had been.

Walking back to the lab, I fell in with Cam. "He's a good fit."

"He is. I miss Zackarooni, but if Clark decides he can handle the field work, it will actually free you and Booth up to work the cases a little more intensively."

"Either that, or the murderers and serial killers of the world will hear that we've doubled our investigative capacity, and make more work for us." I paused, and Cam snorted. "Speaking of good fits... Cam, I would love it if you would come try bridesmaids' dresses on with Angela and me tomorrow morning."

She looked over at me, a smile breaking on her face. "Really?"

"No, Cam. I just routinely ask people I hate to be in a wedding I never thought I'd have. Of course, yes."

"Okay, but I can't be responsible for catching you if you fall while I'm trying on dresses."

"Gotcha, Shaky."

- - -

After meeting briefly again with Clark regarding next week's work, Booth ushered me out of the lab. Back in the car, he shot me a sidelong look, his expression stern. "I had an interesting conversation with Sam Cullen this morning."

I shot him an inquiring glance.

"I was curious about the 22706 designation. Not that it isn't long past time for you to stop being referred to as 'and accessory,' but Bureau personnel designations are hard to change."

"Well, I am a contractor, not an employee."

"Sort of."

"I don't know what that means."

"Sam said that there's a little-utilized personnel exception for contractors who spend more than 70 of their time working for the Bureau in the area of their primary specialty. The Bureau has the right to elect them status as employees, even if they retain concurrent employment with the contracting agency."

"Makes sense. 70 is a lot of time."

"Did you know that you spent 3000 hours last year working on Bureau cases?"

"No. I don't really keep track of that kind of thing. I log my hours for accounting, but that's it."

"Well, that's the other part of the rule. Any contractor who logs more than 6000 hours, total, on behalf of the FBI gets automatic employee status."

"So? I'm remunerated quite well by the Jeffersonian. I don't need to be considered an FBI employee-- unless it means I get a gun, in which case..."

He laughed. "No, that's not what it means. The FBI still pays the contracting institution for the contractor's work. What is means is that if the contractor is killed in the line of duty, or dies of non-suicidal causes, then the next of kin gets FBI death benefits-- which are co-equal with the contractor's salary average for the contracting period, for the first ten years after the contractor's death."

"That's very generous."

"It is. Most of the time, it doesn't come into play. Most contractors don't ever log that many hours, or dedicate that large a percentage of their work, for the Bureau. But you? You've spent almost 10,000 hours working on Bureau cases since we started working together."

I thought about that number, though it seemed large. It made sense. Before we'd started working together, I was a night owl because I was lonely. Once we'd started working together, I worked long hours because I was finally working with someone who was as serious about these people's lives as I was. And, I had to admit, because I was lonely when he'd gone home for the day. At least if I was working, I was keeping my mind off the fact that my apartment was empty.

"So Sam made me an employee in case you needed my death benefits?"

"Yeah. It shocked the hell out of me, when he told me."

"Did you tell him that it wouldn't be necessary?"

"I did. He was surprised. I think his words were, 'she doesn't act like she has money to burn.' But he said you can designate someone besides a spouse as a beneficiary, so long as they are related by blood or marriage."

"So I can leave it to Parker, or my dad, or Russ, and they wouldn't object?"

"Right."

"It'd be hard to say no. It was good of him to think of you that way."

"Wasn't me, Bones. He honestly had no idea how much money you might have made from the books, and was worried that between me having some kind of nervous breakdown and your felonious family's ability to secure high-paying jobs that there'd be half a dozen people in the poorhouse."

"Well, if I can designate it to someone else, and I don't have to do anything else that comes along with FBI employee status, I might as well do it. I know I could weapons qualify, but if I had to fitness qualify, unless it's in the next three weeks, then I don't know..."

"You don't. The contractor qualifications stuff still applies. Although it means you _can_ use the gym, and the trainers, and the range."

"How many times have department supervisors or Deputy Directors had a chance to elect this provision?"

"Probably three dozen. You're the first one they've ever done it for, though." The tone of his voice made clear that he thought it was due to whatever work I'd done for the Bureau. I was pretty sure that Sam had done it on Seeley's behalf, just in case. But I didn't need to tell him that.

"Well, it's an offer that's hard to refuse. Did he give you any papers for me to sign?"

"They're in my bag."

"Well, we'll look at them later."

When we got home, there was a huge pile of mail on the floor inside the mail slot. Sorting through it, and piling our respective mail on the table inside the door, I decided that my mail forwarding had caught up with me. I had a few things from my publisher and the usual bills and charitable solicitations, but the courier from my lawyer's office had also apparently been by, and there was a large envelope of documents I would need to review and sign. Booth had the usual assortment of everyday bills and junk mail, but as I got to the bottom of the pile, I saw that there were two identical envelopes from the same sender, addressed to both of us.

"Seeley, look at this."

He walked over, and looked at the envelope in my hands. "National Criminal Justice Association. Probably the conference announcement Cam mentioned last night."

"No. They never send those things to anyone but law enforcement. Squints are welcome to pay the conference fee and attend, but anyone not working directly for a law enforcement agency doesn't get the mail."

"So open them."

I went over to the kitchen, and pulled out a steak knife to open the envelopes. "A house with how many guns, and you don't have a letter opener?"

Both letters looked to be the same-- same length, same paragraph size. Handing him his, I started to read mine aloud.

"_Each year, the NCJA presents a series of seminars, panels, and roundtable discussions related to an overall theme chosen by the planning committee. This year, the NCJA has determined that conference presentations will center on topics related to the investigation of cases through forensics science, and the investigation of cases more than three years old, sometimes called "cold cases."_

Your work in the furtherance of the goals of the NCJA is well-renowned, and highly relevant to this year's theme. In particular, the recent case reports summarizing the investigation and resolution of the Margaret Taylor murder, the discovery of her orphaned son's medical condition, and the prompt remanding of his care to his legal guardians has been brought to the NCJA's attention. The work performed in the investigation and resolution of this case reflects the quality of outcome that can result from the beneficial combination of forensic science and investigatory police work.

We would therefore like to invite you and your partner, FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth, to present, as the keynote address to this year's conference, a one-hour summation of the forensic and investigative techniques brought to bear toward the resolution of this case. Any audio-visual or other technical aids you require in order to provide the audience with a thorough understanding of the case can be arranged.

It is our honor to extend you this invitation, and we look forward to your acceptance of same."

Booth looked up. "Mine's identical, except that it says your name where yours lists mine." He looked a little dumbstruck.

"It's good, right?"

"Very good. It's one of the NCJA's biggest honors, except for their Dedication to Service Award."

"Well, then we should tell them we'll do it."

"Bones, I don't know."

"Why?"

"Well, every police chief, senior state law enforcement officer, and federal senior agent and higher is going to be there, including the Attorney General and all the Directors of the federal law enforcement agencies. There's going to be almost 2500 people at that dinner."

"So?"

"2500 people, Bones?"

"Seeley. You teach at Quantico. You were a sergeant and squad leader. You lead tactical teams all the time at work. How is this different?"

"Well, let's see. 2500 people? So, I'd say about, 2500 people."

"So? The lights on the stage are going to be too bright for you to actually see everyone in the audience. And we did really good work on that case. It was hard."

"Bones, it's 2500 people!" He was looking a little panicked.

He was being silly. I couldn't believe he was honestly thinking about turning this down. It had to be a team presentation, because he'd done a significant amount of work that hadn't involved any lab work at all. It was truly one of those cases where our work had almost split down the middle. "You're being unreasonable. And selfish."

"Selfish!"

"Yes, selfish. Booth, whether or not you want to believe it, you're probably the best agent in D.C. Probably one of the top five or ten in the country. You always chalk your work up to your 'gut,' but it's more than that. You chase down every last detail, talk to everyone who could possibly know something. You leave no stone unturned-- and only then do you let your gut help you figure out what actually happened. You have something to teach these people. It's nice that they asked me, too, but they're not going to take away much from what I have to say except that if they find the right forensics team, it can be very helpful in resolving the case. But the science only goes so far, and their ability to use it, to apply it, to catch the bad guys? That comes from doing the kinds of things you do, and knowing how to work with the experts to ensure a successful prosecution or confession. So if you're going to chicken out of teaching those people how we found Andy a good home, then tell me, Booth-- how many Andys out there aren't going to go home?"

"Bones, that's low."

"I don't care if it's low. Is it true?" He was avoiding looking me in the eye, but when I'd asked him about the truth, he did, a grimace on his face.

"Temperance, do you think you could go a whole hour without being right about something?"

"Nope. My infuriating need to be right all the time is one of my more endearing qualities."

I stifled his laugh with a kiss.


	23. Chapter 23

23

23.

Releasing him from the kiss, I pushed him toward the phone.

"Call them now and tell them we accept. I'll email them the AV requirements."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. You never go back on something once you've committed. Go, commit."

"Bossy."

"Chicken."

"Pedant."

"Philistine."

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

I listened to him make the call with one ear as I sorted the rest of the mail and paperwork. I brought the FBI paperwork and the envelope from Alan over, and laid it all out for review and signature. The FBI paperwork was easiest, as it just required my signature, beneficiary designations, and an authorization to perform another security clearance check. I brought up my computer, sent a few documents to speed the process along, and closed it down again-- it was something I'd been meaning to deal with since this all began, anyway.

Everything was in order, including the changes I'd requested, so I started signing and stacking the documents.

"What are those?"

"Things from Alan. My will, the testamentary trusts, the new charitable trust deeds, a couple of bank documents confirming the paperwork we signed. Here, these ones need your signature, too."

He sat and took them, then reviewed them slowly, clearly taking seriously the fact that he was now jointly responsible for these obligations. When he'd finished, he signed them and sat back, obviously hating the necessity of it as well. I had something else for him to review, that I'd thought of and asked Bob and Alan to draw up, but it wasn't something I'd discussed with him, and I wasn't quite sure what he'd think.

"Seeley. I was thinking about something the other night and asked Bob and Alan to work up a draft. Would it be okay with you if we did this?" I handed him the papers.

He read the cover page, and shot me an almost shocked look, then resumed reading, and re-reading, what I'd given him.

"That's more than the annual Congressional budget for that, you know that, don't you?"

"Which is shameful, because in the overall scheme of things, it's not even that much."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I know. Lip service, but no real return of service."

"You don't mind?"

He looked over at me, his eyes dark. "Bones, why would I mind? You always know just the right thing to do." He pulled me over to him, and hugged me to his chest, laying a kiss on my head. "It will help a lot of people." We sat there a moment, and then he sighed.

"I guess I need to re-do all of my stuff too. I only have the house and some insurance and my Bureau benefits, so I didn't need a lot of paperwork."

I stroked his knee. "If you have copies of all of those things, we can send them to Alan with the signed originals here, and he can draft something up." He sighed again, and shrugged.

"Let me get them." He got up and went to the desk, and pulled a thin folder from the bottom drawer. Flipping through it, he nodded, then brought it back and dropped it on top of the documents I'd already put back in their envelope. "That's it. The vast Booth fortune and estate."

"Seeley..."

"Sorry. Bad joke. Very bad. This is just, not the thing I want to think about right now. Or ever. But I know we have to." I reached out and grabbed his hand, laid a kiss in his palm.

"I know, I don't either. But it's got to be done." I scribbled a quick note to Alan on his cover letter about Booth's papers, and put everything in the envelope, sealing it and finding some stamps, then did the same with the FBI documents.

"Now I feel really perky. Want some coffee?"

"I've got a bit of a headache, I think I'll lie down a bit."

His expression immediately became worried. "Headache?"

"Nothing more than I'd have if I'd been staring at my computer all day." I got up and kissed one edge of his mouth. "Wake me in an hour?" He kissed me back, and I patted his cheek before heading off.

- - -

I left the door open as I took off my shoes and climbed into bed. I liked to hear him puttering, the homey sounds comforting when I'd been so used to being the only noise in my apartment. Eventually, I drifted off, though I half-heard the phone ring and some short conversation too low to hear. I slept again, but later woke to men's voices. Curious, I got up and walked quietly down the hall, stopping short in the hall as I failed to recognize the head of the person sitting across from Booth, his back to me. He had sandy blonde hair, and Booth did not look happy to see him-- he was sitting at the other end of the couch, his arms crossed and his shoulders tense, his face closed. The blonde man's voice continued.

"Well, Seel, you've landed in the cream. A rich, hot fiancee-- you could retire from that job that pays you such shit and go into consulting, get away from the bodies and ingrates and do something fun, something lucrative. I have a friend who's a weapons consultant..."

Booth interrupted. "I love my job, Jar. And I don't want any part of weapons sales."

"Seel, I don't get you. You're a hell of a marksman, and there are tons of commercial opportunities for someone with a little Booth charm. Not as much as me, of course, but I was always the lucky one."

This must be his brother, Jared. He'd been away on business when his parents had come to visit. I knew he was a water systems consultant, and had been very successful selling desalinization systems in Africa. I didn't really approve of for-profit businesses like that-- I'd spent too much time on digs in drought and famine-stricken areas to think of water as anything other than a human right, like vaccines, or food. As far as I was concerned, the technology ought to be made available at low cost, even if the government had to subsidize the manufacturers to make up a reasonable profit margin. But I'd kept my thoughts to myself, because I'd never met the man, and didn't want to jump to conclusions. With the little I'd heard, and coupled with the fact that Seeley's jaw muscles twitched whenever Jared was mentioned, I decided I had enough facts on which to base a conclusion. He was an asshole.

"Drop it, Jared. I'm not interested."

"Sorry there, Mr. Touchy. So, tell me about the wedding plans. A thousand of your nearest well-wishers? More caviar and foie gras than the GNP of those countries I make lots of money off?"

"No, Jar, that's you. It'll be small. Only about forty people. You and Jack Hodgins, our friends Angela and Camille are standing up with us, and Parker's excited to be the ringbearer."

"That woman is actually letting him come?"

"That woman is actually coming to the wedding, so you'd better be nice."

"I don't know what you ever saw in her. Sure, she's a great piece of ass, but refusing to get married? All those men parading in and out of her house? I don't know why you put up with it."

I had heard enough. He _really_ was an asshole. I walked into the living room, and Booth's head shot up, his face a mask but his eyes reflecting a deep hurt at his brother's words.

"Bones, you're up."

"Mmm-hmm. I heard voices."

Jared had gotten up, and walked over to where I was standing in the doorway.

"Well, hello there. I'm Seel's older brother Jared." He extended his hand, and I took it. His hand came to my other elbow, clearly intending to come in for a kiss. I sidestepped him, letting go of his hand, and grabbing his wrist, I stepped behind him and pulled his arm sharply behind him. Pushing him up against the wall, I shoved his head against the wall with my hand on the back of his neck, and brought my knee up between his legs, effectively pinning him in place.

I leaned in, until I was speaking right into his ear. "Hello there, yourself. I'm the rich, hot, fiancee." Increasing the pressure on his neck, I shot Booth a look over my shoulder. "Seeley, you were too kind when you talked about your brother. You should have told me he was a profiteering jackass with no respect for the mother of his nephew and my stepson, much less any respect for someone who's chosen to make a difference in the world and save people's lives, rather than concentrate on money and material comforts." Turning back to Jared, whose face was registering a combination of fear and surprise, I gave him my best Evil Death Voice, shoving his head harder into the wall for emphasis. "When you have saved hundreds of lives and have nearly been killed uncountable times while doing so, when you have raised a sweet little boy whose mother has worked with Seeley to make sure that he understands what's really important, when you have learned the meaning of the words sacrifice and love and patience, then you can talk down to your brother and presume to know better. Until then, either speak to him with the respect he deserves, or keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me?"

I lowered my knee and released my hand from his neck, but kept a hold on the arm I'd twisted behind his back. He started to straighten, and I slammed him back into the wall. "I didn't hear a yes."

"Yes." He whispered.

I did it again. "Louder."

"Yes."

"Now, apologize to your brother for being a callous, money-grubbing asshole." Another slam.

"I'm sorry, Seel."

I shoved my elbow into his kidney. "Not good enough. Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry I'm a callous, money-grubbing asshole."

Letting go, I stepped back. He didn't move, except to turn his head a bit to look at me with wide, terrified eyes over his shoulder. "Good. Let's not have this conversation again."

I walked over to Booth, stood up on my toes, and kissed him soundly, then said, "I'm going to take a shower. I'm feeling a little soiled right now." He grabbed me and kissed me back, his eyes shining. I walked past Jared, not even looking at him.

- - -

I finished my shower and went back into the bedroom to change. When I came back out, I put a smile on my face and entered the kitchen. The two of them were sitting at the island, drinking coffee. Booth's shoulders were straighter, his expression calm. Jared's back was to me, however, and his shoulders were now the ones that were hunched. "Booth. We have company?" I asked, deciding to give Jared one free pass on what had happened earlier. Jared jumped at the sound of my voice, and turned around quickly. Walking forward, I extended my hand. "Hello. You must be Seeley's brother, Jared. What a nice surprise that you stopped by. I'm Temperance Brennan." Jared, surprise registering on his face, recovered fairly quickly, and took my hand tentatively.

"Dr. Brennan, nice to meet you."

"Call me Temperance."

I pulled up a stool across from Jared, and looked at Booth. "Is there more coffee?" He nodded, and walked to the coffeemaker to pour me a cup, then added the cream and sugar I usually took. Giving it a stir, he re-seated himself and slid the mug over to me.

"So, Jared, what brings you to town?"

He hesitated. I think he was waiting for me to take the spoon from my coffee and reach across the island to carve his heart out, a thought which, to be truthful, I had not yet ruled out. Clearing his throat, he said, "Well, I have a meeting on K Street in the morning, so I thought I would drop in, since I missed last weekend's meet up."

"Where are you staying?"

"The Westin in Georgetown. I took a cab over-- I figured it'd be too much of a hassle to rent a car for just one night."

"That Westin's nice," I said. "I've presented at some conferences and attended some parties there-- very nice accommodations for business travelers."

We settled in to some neutral chit-chat, and Jared had begun to ask me about my various travels when my cell phone rang. It was the lab, Zack's extension. I started, then realized Cam must have given Clark Zack's office. "Excuse me," I said, moving to the couch.

"Clark."

"T. How you doing?"

"Fine, thanks. What can I do for you?"

"I've been watching those practice films on the Emily Harris case against Angela's program, and I can safely rule out two of the four. They're the right height, but too thin to have exerted the force that created the fractures."

"What do you think the mass difference is on those two?"

"Fifteen and twenty kilograms, respectively."

"More than enough of a difference."

"Right. The other two are close in weight, but one is a little heavier than the other-- they're the ones Dropout picked out. I'm going to need to look at those films again to see if I can make a better determination. Can you take a look at them on Monday?"

"I'd be glad to. Does Jack have anything new on the particulates?"

"Yes, actually. Dr. Prissy say there was pollen embedded along with the asphalt, consistent with a particular experimental variety of hybrid corn grown by the school's agricultural extension program. Turns out, there are some open-air basketball courts near their ag school fields."

"Clark, that's great news. Do you need us to go out there with you?"

"Well, Moron and I were going to go out with Dr. Prissy to sample the pollen and asphalt while we test for blood."

"Then you don't need us, really. I mean, if you need anything, call, but you guys know what you're doing."

"Thanks, T. I appreciate it."

"Anything else?"

"It was a pickaxe on the Clifford. Prissy ordered some he thinks will match-- they'll come in tomorrow or Monday so we can run a recon on the Angelator with the actual dimensions. The other facsimiles just came in."

"Excellent. Any peep out of Santana?"

"Not a word. Sam Cullen stopped by though, to apologize for the Bureau."

"Good. I'll see you Monday--I'll be in around eight."

"Nine," called Booth.

"Whenever," laughed Clark. "Have a good weekend, T. Tell your scary-ass boyfriend hello."

"Thanks, Dumbass." He laughed again and hung up.

I came back to the island. Booth's expression was curious.

"Clark ruled out two of the four perps-- said you've earned your name because the other two were your picks. We're going to look at the films Monday, and then you guys can see about questioning. Hodgins found pollen from a special hybrid being grown at the Agricultural extension. There are some open-air courts near the fields. The three of them are going out and will check for blood while Hodgins samples."

"Anything on the Clifford?"

"The third instrument was a pickaxe handle. Hodgins ordered some, and they'll be in Monday. The other two instruments are in. Once we have the actual mass and dimensions on all three, Angela can input them and we can get a weight/height on the suspects that might let us choose between the two remaining. And, Cullen stopped by to make his apologies."

"Good. Edison's going to be great."

Jared shook his head. "Okay, I have no idea what you're talking about."

I leveled a look at him. "That was Clark Edison, the forensic anthropologist we've asked to help out on the cases Booth and I work. We're extremely lucky to have him. He'll be almost as good as I am in very short time, which is good because our victims deserve a good replacement in case the chemotherapy doesn't work." He looked shocked at my bluntness, and I continued. "I don't want to leave those families in the lurch."

Booth, a serious expression on his face, looked at his brother. "Bones doesn't mince words."

"Apparently. You know, I have some people under me I need to whip into shape. You want to consult for me and scare the living shit out of them? I figure it will probably take you about ten minutes, since I haven't made any headway in the three months I've had them." He gave me a tentative smile.

I smiled back, then decided a change of scenery would be nice. "So, where are you taking us for dinner?"

Jared laughed. "You tell me."

- - -

By the end of dinner, Jared had managed to relax a bit around me. I mentioned the NCJA invitation, and played up the recognition of Booth's work.

Smiling, Booth interjected. "Bones is being modest. I might have figured out the motive and the ID of the suspect, but she figured out where to find the body of the accountant who linked Meg's murder and the suspect together. No body, no verdict."

I smiled back. "Partners."

"You bet."

We dropped Jared at his hotel, getting out to say goodbye. He stuck out his hand to shake mine, and this time, I took it and gave him a quick hug. "See you in a few weeks," I said.

"Looking forward to it."

He gave Booth a pat on the shoulder, which Booth returned, then slipped his arm around my waist. "Talk to you later, bro."

"Enjoy your meeting, hope the flight's good."

Booth turned, and backed me up against the car door. Bending to kiss me, he said, "You're incredible."

"Partners."

"Always." He closed in, kissing me passionately, his hands roaming up and down my sides as I wrapped my arms around his neck. When we broke apart, the hotel doorman was eyeing us, a grin on his face.

"Come on, let's continue this discussion at home. How embarrassing would it be if we got arrested for public indecency?"

- - -

Once home, I kicked my shoes off and dumped my bag under the entry table, then went to the sofa and flopped down into the cushions, letting out a sigh and rolling my neck on my shoulders. Booth, standing behind the couch, took the cue and began rubbing my neck.

"Mmm. Feels good."

"How's your headache?"

"It was better when I first got up, but I think your brother made it come back. Don't stop."

He continued to knead the muscles in my neck, then moved his thumbs up to the base of my skull, rubbing my scalp. "You don't have any knots anywhere. Are you nauseous at all?"

"No, I'm fine."

Coming around the sofa, he sat to the side of me, shoving his leg behind me. "Here, turn." I did, shifting backward so he would continue to work on my back.

"You have such nice hands," I murmured, as he pressed along my spine between my shoulder blades, then circled his thumbs on my scapulae.

"All the better to feel you with." He stopped, pulled me back against him and settled his arms around me. I leaned back into his warmth, closing my eyes. My head was still twinging, and was actually getting a bit worse, despite the massage, but I wasn't going to to let that get in the way of him touching me.

"Nice arms, too."

"All the better to hold you with." He kissed the junction of my neck and shoulder.

"Mmm. Good kisser, too."

"Don't get me started on the all the better to taste you with part," he chuckled. "It's late. Let's go to bed." Pushing me forward, he got up and pulled me off the sofa to face him. Placing his thumb and fingers beneath my chin, he started to come in for a kiss, then stopped, looking me in the eyes.

"Come here," he said, taking my hand and pulling me over to the lamp that was lit on the other side of the room. He tilted my chin up again, then said, his expression darkening, "Your pupils are uneven."

"They shouldn't be."

"Well, they are. Where's Thornton's number? Do they have a call service?"

"I don't know. It's Friday night. It's really not that bad. I'll call her tomorrow."

"You'll call her tonight, or I will." He was deadly serious, his eyes pained. "Is the card in your wallet?"

"I'll get it." I walked over to the table, bent down to retrieve my bag from the floor. A sharp pain stabbed through my right eye, then, so sudden I nearly lost my balance, and I put my arm out against the floor to catch myself.

"Bones!" He was at my side in an instant, his hand on my back. "What is it?"

My teeth were gritted against the pain, which was now attempting to pound my brain out of my skull. "Shooting pain when I bent over," I said through clenched teeth. His hand came around to my stomach.

"Can you stand up, slowly?"

I nodded, and pushed myself up slightly with the hand I'd put out to catch myself, his hand exerting light pressure on my abdomen as his other hand pulled on my shoulders. I managed to stand up without losing my balance again, but standing upright didn't relieve the pressure in my head.

"Here, sit on the couch, I'll call her." He guided me over and pushed me down into the cushions. I laid my head back, while he rummaged in my bag and then picked up the phone.

"Hi. I need to get a message to Dr. Thornton immediately. It's regarding Temperance Brennan. She's experiencing a severe headache and her pupils are uneven." He paused. "About ten minutes? Okay, thank you." He read the operator his cell phone number and the house number, then hung up and came over to sit next to me. Pulling me over against him, he started stroking my hair as I rested my head against his chest. "She's going to call back. I think we should go in to get you checked out."

I really didn't want to go back to the hospital, but there was something wrong if I was getting headaches again. His phone rang almost immediately, the noise piercing through my head. "Ow," I mumbled, as he flipped open the phone and picked up.

"Booth. Yes, hi. Thanks for calling back so quickly. She's had a headache since... Bones, when?"

"About three," I supplied.

"Three. She took a nap, but it's gotten worse and I noticed her pupils were uneven a few minutes ago. She had a severe shooting pain when she bent to get something and nearly lost her balance. Noise sensitivity, too." He listened a moment, then said, "We're about ten minutes away. Okay, see you then."

He got up and went to the hall table to gather his wallet and keys, as well as my bag. Grabbing my favorite sweater out of the closet, he came back to the sofa. "Upsy daisy," he said, pulling me up. The change in position made my head throb again, and I winced. He slipped my sweater over my shoulders, and I wobbled a bit as his steadying hands left me. "Hey," he said, a hand immediately surrounding my waist. "None of that." Moving to my side, he lifted me into his arms, and handed me his keys. "Hold these."

"Booth, I can walk."

"I don't care."

He pulled the door shut behind us, and balanced me on an upraised knee as he locked the door before handing me back the keys. I pressed the remote, unlocking the doors, and leaned forward in his arms to pull the door open when he reached the car's passenger door. Bad idea-- another pain stabbed into my eye. "Shit," I said.

"Stop moving." He got me into the car, then came around and got in, pulling my seatbelt around me. "She's going to meet us there."

I leaned into the headrest and closed my eyes. The headlights from the other cars hurt.

"Talk to me. No sleeping," he ordered.

"Talking hurts."

"Still."

"Nice way to start a weekend. Parker has another game, Sunday."

"Mmm-hmm. Only two more games in the season." He hit a pothole, and the car jounced, sending another jolt through me.

"Ow. Remind me to personally pave the potholes in the District later."

"Remind me to shoot the head of the DPW later."

"Fine with me." The car turned, slowed, drove a bit further, stopped. The lights were bright against my closed eyelids. The engine turned off, and his car door slammed, the noise rattling inside my skull. My hand shot to my head. "Fuck," I whispered, as he opened the door and unfastened the seatbelt, pulling me out of the car. He turned, kicked the door shut, and started forward, every footfall jarring me.

I heard a door whooshing open, and the lights got even brighter. There was a buzz of voices and machinery, and I put my hand across my eyes to shield them. "Too bright."

"Dr. Delia Thornton?" he called.

"Over here, sir."

He strode forward, and I heard a curtain pulled aside, then Dr. Thornton's voice. "On the bed."

He set me down, and I let my head fall back. Finally, no more movement. "Hey, Delia, sorry to interrupt your evening," I said, trying to keep my voice low-- it still sent more pain through my head. Booth had moved to the end of the bed to let Dr. Thornton work, but his hand was gripping my ankle, tightly. "Seeley, too tight." His grip loosened, but his hand remained in place.

"I was just reading anyway," she said, her voice light. Her hands touched my forehead and cheek. "Bright light," she said, before pulling open one eyelid, shining a light into my eye. I flinched backward, involuntarily. She let the eyelid close, then said "Again," before opening the other eyelid. Again, I flinched. Her head rested against my forehead for a moment, then she ran her hands down my arms and held my hands. "Squeeze my left hand." I did. "Now the right." I tried, but I could tell my grip was much weaker as I started to squeeze. A pain shot through my head again, and my mouth began to salivate, as a heave lurched through me. I clamped my mouth shut against it, as Booth said "Goddamnit!" and let go of me. Delia's hands pulled my shoulders forward as Booth's hands at my back shifted me onto my side.

"I need some intramuscular dexamethasone here, now," she called, "and some morphine. Now, people!"

Another heave shuddered through me, and I clapped my hand to my mouth.

"Here." Something cool and plastic slid under my chin, and a hand tugged me further forward. "Hold her a second," said Delia, as some footsteps hurried over. Booth's hand clasped my shoulder, holding me forward. "I need an MRI set up, now, and a bag of Ringer's." I heard papers tearing, and then a hand pulled at my waistband, exposing my hip and abdomen. "Temperance, needle." A sharp jab, and I heaved again, this time losing the battle to keep my stomach from losing its contents. I whimpered. The pain was searing. "Another needle. Morphine." A second sharp jab, my stomach again revolting. His hand was on my forehead, the other still holding my shoulder, as I sank back.

A cool, damp cloth passed over my face, my mouth, and a straw touched my lips. "Sip and rinse, spit for me." I swished the water in my mouth, spat. "Again."

"How's your stomach?" asked Delia.

"Hurts."

"Which is worse? The head or the stomach?"

"Head," I mumbled.

"Scale of one to ten?"

"Nine."

"I gave you a lot of morphine. You'll probably fall asleep. I'm going to do an MRI, we'll move you up to observation."

"What is it?" I asked.

"We'll see. Here, squeeze my left again?" Two fingers made their way into my palm, and I curled my fingers around them. "Okay, right, but don't squeeze, just close, okay?" I tried to obey, and felt my hand twitch, but I couldn't get my fingers to move that much.

Her hand moved to my ankles. "Left, push against my hand." I did. "Right, now." I was able to do as she asked, which was a little relief. At least it wasn't a systemic problem. She pulled off my shoes, put her fingers on my big toes. "Feel anything?"

"Left."

"Anything else?"

"Now right."

"Ok, good. How's the head? Anything yet?"

"Yeah, floaty."

"Good. You float a bit."

A voice said something about the MRI, as I drifted off.

A hand was stroking my arm as I woke. I felt another damned oxygen mask on my face. I tried moving my right hand, and felt a needle in my wrist. Good, I thought, no central line, at least. I cracked one eye, saw Booth.

"What time?"

"About an hour and a half."

"Where?"

"Step-down unit."

"What was it?"

"The MRI showed some fluid buildup around the mass, but the tumor's the same size. Delia thinks the fluid was an allergic response to one of the drugs in the cocktail. It filled the area that had shrunk already, and brought on the same symptoms again. She gave you some blood pressure medication, and it seems to be working."

"Not as bad this time."

He squeezed my hand. "They're going to keep you overnight, maybe through Sunday, to make sure it keeps going down. She said the response should be pretty quick, if we took you off the cocktail. You didn't take the evening dose before we went out, did you?"

I shook my head. Still floaty, good.

"That's what I thought."

"Did you call Ange?"

"Mmm-hmm. Told them not to come over tonight. Angela will call Cam about tomorrow. I said I'd call again in the morning."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize. Feeling any better?"

"Floaty. Love you."

"You too. Now, stop talking." He shifted, stood, and lifted me to the side. "Push over, you bed hog." He kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bed, pulling me back against his chest as he pulled the covers back over us. I sighed, nestled back into his heat. Now, I could sleep.

- - -

I woke to the clatter of breakfast trays being pushed down the hallway. I shifted, opened my eyes. No mask anymore. I wasn't feeling the morphine as much, and my headache, while present, was a bit better. Booth shifted behind me, hugged me, whispered "Morning, love."

I licked my lips, cleared my throat. "Morning." I turned, rolled over to look at him, stroked a hand along his face. His forehead was scrunched up again with worry. "I need to pee."

He nodded, got out of the bed. "I'll call a nurse."

"I'm fine. Just give me a hand getting up."

Ignoring me, he went out in the hall, and came back quickly. "Look who I found!"

"Cherie, you could have called if you missed me that much. No need to come back for an in-person visit."

I smiled. "Jeanne. I just needed a Julian fix."

"Your boy says you need a bathroom fix."

I nodded and pushed myself up to sitting. She came over, tipped up my chin. "Good, you're not cross-eyed anymore. How's the head?"

"Okay. Not gone, but better."

"Dizzy?"

"No."

"How about your stomach?"

"Fine, so far. I really need to brush my teeth."

"Well, let's give it a try." She lowered the sidebar, and I pushed back the covers, slowly. Scooting forward, I swung my legs over the bed, the johnny riding up my legs.

"I hate these things." I scooted forward, put my feet on the floor, tugged down the hem of my gown. Jeanne, a light hand at my elbow, waited. Bracing my arms, I pushed up. Good, no wobbling. I cracked my neck, rolled my head on my shoulders. "I'm fine."

"Okay, in you go, Cherie."

I made my way in, and dealt with my needs. There was a toothbrush and toothpaste, thank goodness. Watching myself in the mirror, I wasn't happy with what I saw. I was pale, and my color was off, dark circles under my eyes. Spitting, I rinsed and brushed my tongue, and looked again in the mirror. "Well, Temperance, fasten your seatbelt. It's going to be a bumpy ride."

- - -

Delia came to see me soon after, and gave me another examination. I had recovered more of the strength in my right hand, but it was still weaker than my left, though my pupils had regulated. She told us she'd called Henry Watkins about the muscular weakness, because that was more his speciality than hers; she usually just dealt with tumor removal and drug therapy, less so with voluntary muscular neurological dysfunction. We didn't mind-- we both liked Henry, and after all, he'd figured out what was wrong in the first place.

After she left, I tried to eat breakfast, but my stomach rebelled after the second bite of the hospital food, and I kept it down by sheer force of will. Delia ordered another anti-emetic, and Jeanne ordered me some bland food for lunch, but I wasn't sure that wouldn't be worse, since I thought it was the mere fact of having any food in my stomach, not the taste of it, that seemed to make it worse. My headache got no worse, but it didn't recede as the day wore on, either. It was a constant, dull throb, and the overhead lights and loud noises still provoked shooting pains. I didn't want to take any more of the morphine, since it would just mask what pain there was, and make it impossible to monitor if things were improving. Booth thought I was being ridiculous, but I didn't want to miss any more work, and if I was better by tomorrow, I could probably make my class Monday afternoon, even if I stayed home in the morning. We were arguing about it, Booth pacing at the side of the bed, when Jack and Angela came in.

"Bones, for Christ's sake, if they miss another week then Goodman can schedule extra classes to make it up. I will even bring in your laptop so you can email him your damned notes."

"I'm getting better, I'll be fine by tomorrow. I have work to do, and I'm not going to get any better just lying in a bed being useless."

"I would rather you be lying in bed doing nothing, and how dare you call yourself useless, than have you pass out on me or worse on that hard metal platform or in front of a room full of snotnosed grad students who wouldn't know first aid from their elbows."

"Booth, those students paid for instruction, and it's not fair..."

"What's not fair is if you make yourself worse, and it affects your ability to beat this thing."

"I'll be fine."

"What do you not get about this, Temperance? You were out of the hospital not even two weeks and now you're back in and the medication that is supposed to help you is _not working_. They can't start the damned chemotherapy if you're not stable, so you are going to stay put in that goddamned bed if I have to handcuff you to it."

Ange's voice came from the doorway. "Bren, I'll sit on you if you won't stay put."

She and Jack came in, looking worried, and Ange sat down on the bed, gripping my hand in a fierce hold. "Bren, you're being unnecessarily stubborn. You've already done everything you could to make sure all your obligations are covered, even though you could totally have thrown it back on Cam and the Bureau and the University to deal with. But instead, you made the best possible arrangements for all concerned. They are in place, it's covered, you did what you had to. No, Clark's not as good as you yet. Yes, it's an interruption to your students. But you know what? None of that matters, because there is only one _you_, and if you can't at least stop being such a control freak for your own good, at least try to think of it in terms of recovering enough to carry on your work. So help me, if you dig yourself an early grave because you're too stubborn to take care of yourself, I will hunt you down in the afterlife and kill you."

"And I'll drive her," added Jack. "Dr. B., you're not being logical. You're trying to argue with empirical, objective facts. No amount of willpower on your part is going to make your body respond and pick up the pace, and by fighting it, you're only going to depress your immune system."

Jack's argument made sense. I knew perfectly well that the body's healing processes really couldn't be sped; it would react to treatment or not, but it was out of my voluntary control, much as I hated to admit it. I sighed, sinking back into the bed, and rubbed my hand over my face in the hopes of scrubbing away the tears starting to form in my eyes. "I hate this. I hate not being able to do anything except sit here. It's not _fair_. And my head hurts, and it's making me whine, and I _hate_ whining."

Ange leaned over and pulled me into a hug then, stroking my hair. "I know sweetie. It's isn't fair. But if you try to ignore it, it's not going to help, either." I sniffled into her shoulder, tears starting to leak from my eyes. "Bren, honey, there's really only one you. And whether you believe it or not, you can't save the whole world, though you're doing a damned good job trying. But you can't keep trying if you're not here. So do us a favor, and just do what the doctors and Booth tell you? Okay?" I nodded into her shoulder, not yet trusting myself to look anyone in the eye and avoid sobbing hysterically.

Seeley had come over and seated himself opposite Angela, and was rubbing my lower back as Angela continued to pat my hair. I gained control of my breathing, and Angela let me go, though she left a kiss on my forehead as she pulled away. I tried giving her a watery grin. "I suppose this still beats a dig in Brazil in the rainy season."

Jack nodded, solemnly. "The mosquitos there are bigger than poodles. It's all over the literature."

Seeley was still rubbing my back, circling my shoulders, so I settled back a bit and let him pull me against his chest. I closed my eyes, and said, "Well, that settles it. I'm allergic to poodles." Behind me, his chest rumbled a little, and the mood lightened a bit, as his other arm took my left hand in his and started turning my engagement ring around my finger. I realized it was becoming an unconscious gesture for him, like his hand at my lower back. The warmth radiating from him was seeping into me, and I was starting to relax a bit, so I opened my eyes and tried another smile.

"Will you guys stay for lunch? I think they're serving mush and cottage cheese."

Jack laughed, and sat in the chair Booth had vacated. "You make it sound so appetizing. How can I possibly say no?"

"So what happened yesterday afternoon?"

Jack started to tell me, but my eyes were getting heavier, and I turned my head into Booth's chest for a moment, intending to just blink a few times and continue the conversation. Instead, the floating wonder of morphine carried me away.

- - -

Warm. Awake again. A heart beating in my ear. A hand holding mine, the thumb endlessly drawing circles on its back. "You pushed the morphine button while Angela was hugging me."

"Of course."

"I was going to do it."

"Sure. You can say it until you're blue in the face, but I don't believe you."

"Seeley, I..."

"We'll talk about it later. Just sit quietly with me for a while, okay?" He shifted, settled me so that he was sitting further behind me, and I was lying flatter, my head and upper body still cradled against him. I dozed.

- - -

Midafternoon, a new nurse came in, carrying a covered plate from the lunch I'd slept through.

"Dr. Brennan, would you like to try some of this?" The nurse was young, pretty, and clearly insecure. She had a pleasant voice, though, so I decided not to bite her head off.

"I don't want to," I began, then smiled as I said "But I'll give it a try."

Lunch was cottage cheese, sliced bananas, and vanilla pudding with a ginger ale. Booth popped the can open and set a straw inside, as the nurse hovered a bit, waiting to see if I was going to eat. "Wow. All the members of the white food group are well-represented here."

She laughed nervously, but continued to hover. I looked at her nametag, then said, "Deanna. I don't bite, but I am feeling a little trepidation about this. It would help if you would let me take my time. We'll call if I need anything-- promise."

She thought about it and nodded-- "I'll be at the nurse's station."

After she left, I sighed. "Bad enough you guys are watching every spoonful, but now I've got a twelve year old wanting to play choo-choo with my lunch."

"Bones, quit whining and eat." Pulling the table forward, I took a spoonful of cottage cheese, and held it in my mouth a moment before swallowing. Okay, so far, so good. Another spoonful of cottage cheese, some banana pieces. I made it through everything but the pudding, which I shoved toward Booth.

"You have it. I'm full."

"Bones, you realize that it just took you twenty minutes to eat half a banana and a half a cup of cottage cheese. We'll save it for later. Dinner isn't for a few more hours."

"You didn't get any lunch."

"I did. Jack and I went down to the cafeteria after you fell asleep. They're coming back later with a few things from the house."

Deanna came back in and smiled in approval of how much I'd eaten. "I really hate cottage cheese," I said, trying my hand at the Booth Charm Smile. I mean, I was marrying him, maybe it would work. "Could I have some yogurt for dinner?"

It worked. She gave me a huge smile. "I'll make sure of it."

After she left the room, Booth poked my arm. "That's my charm smile!"

"You steal my lines, I steal your Charm Smile."

- - -

Saturday afternoon television is boring. I have now studied it for several weeks, and I am convinced I need no further evidence to prove it. "Car racing? Why do people think it's interesting to watch cars drive around in circles?"

"Bones, sometimes the cars crash and explode. It's the anticipation."

- - -

Sam Cullen stopped in as the nurses were bringing around dinner. I lifted the cover on mine and laughed. "Yogurt, hah. The Charm Smile is mine."

Sam laughed. "You call it that, too? Half the women at the Bureau throw themselves in his path every time he walks in the building, just to get that smile out of him."

"It's been retired. Sorry. You'll have to hire another piece of eye-candy to keep them distracted from the fact that they're criminally underpaid."

I handed Booth my ginger ale-- my right hand was still shaky, though I didn't really know how my headache was doing, since Booth insisted on continuing to push my morphine button at least twice an hour. "Open this, please?" He did, and set it back on the table for me. I surveyed the rest of my spread. Butterscotch pudding and more bananas, with a few sliced strawberries. "Strawberries? It's the end of September. These are going to taste like styrofoam."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. Eat."

Sam laughed again. "I'm glad you two haven't given up on the true foundation of your relationship, sarcasm and needling."

Swallowing a spoonful of yogurt, I replied. "Never that. And, actually, this change is more efficient for everyone, because we can conserve on fuel and travel time. The Bureau won't have to pay nearly so much for my mileage any more."

Sam smiled. "Very considerate of you."

"That's my Temperance, trying to conserve fuel like the eco-freak she is, and yet, always nagging me about a conceal carry."

"Don't make me shove this pudding down your shirt in front of your boss. I'll have you know that one of my black belts is in manipulating hospital bed controls with my mind." I turned to Sam. "Did Seeley tell you about the NCJA invitation?"

"He did. It's a real honor for you two. You're going to do it, right?"

"Yes. Bones bullied me into it, threatened to kick my ass six ways to Sunday unless I agreed."

"Good, Temperance, you've saved me the trouble of making the threat, and he's more afraid of you anyway. It should be a good conference. Just tell me if you need anything from the Bureau for the presentation."

I thought. "I think if someone could just turn the scene photos on file from the recycling plant into digital images, then we have everything else I might need in the Jeffersonian databases."

Booth poked me then. "Less talking, more eating. Did Harper or Santana say anything to you?"

Sam smiled, a sinister one. "Harper knows better. But Santana came in, bitching about how you had no right to pull him from the case and that you weren't even supposed to be working so why were you checking up on him. That kind of garbage. Then he started whining about how the Jeffersonian hadn't called him, even though Ms. Montenegro gave him the I.D. within 12 hours of recovery."

I took another spoonful of yogurt, then tried a strawberry. It was disgusting-- as spongy and tasteless as I'd thought it would be. I spat it into a napkin, and set it aside, then picked out the rest of the strawberries.

Sam was continuing to recount his reaming of Santana. "Do you know he had the balls to complain that your team hadn't told him anything more about the skeleton, even though he knew Temperance was out and Dr. Edison was out of town? I blew my top. I threw him out, but not before bumping him down to Evidence for three weeks."

Booth snorted. "You didn't. Really? Eat the strawberries, Bones."

"They're disgusting. You try one, Special Agent Bossy. So, is Santana likely to hold a grudge?"

"Probably not. The guy's closure rate is down, too-- whatever is up with him had nothing to do with you two."

Booth was chewing a strawberry, and took up another napkin, spitting. "These _are_ disgusting. Sorry, Bones. What did Harper say about the Evidence shift?"

Sam had been watching us as we carried on our own conversation, neither of us looking at each other as we talked to him. "You know, Sweets said it was like watching a tennis match, but I didn't actually believe it. How the hell do you keep track of what conversation you're having?"

Booth snorted. "Your brain develops a lobe dedicated exclusively to bickering. Eat your pudding. It's probably evolutionary. Although if Edison and Sully start it, I think at least one girlfriend's going to get jealous. And finish your ginger ale."

"Well, Sully and Clark seem like they'll be a good team. Stop bossing me around. I'm eating as fast as I can-- you eat the goddamned pudding if you want the container empty so badly. I'm glad he was sick of chartering, he's almost as good as Seeley."

Sam laughed as I pushed the pudding at Booth, and Booth pushed it back.

- - -

Angela and Jack arrived a few minutes later, carrying another of Seeley's duffel bags, my laptop, and some other things in a totebag, while Sam was telling me what he knew about the other presenters at the NCJA conference, and settled into the chairs on the other side of the bed. Sam finished what he was saying, then rose, saying, "I see more of your fervent admirers are here. Take it easy, Temperance. Seeley, call me tomorrow." He came over and gave me a peck on the cheek, then turned and walked out the door.

"Great. Now I have to shoot my boss for kissing you." He sighed, rolling his eyes, then clapped his hands. "Okay, family, what have we got?"

Angela smiled. "Some clothes for you and Bren, Bren's laptop, and..." she leaned into the bag, "Trivial Pursuit!"

Booth laughed. "Fine, but I'm playing with Bones this time." I pulled my feet up, curling them under me, and pulled the box over to pull out the board and lay it out on the bed.

An hour later, the luck of the questions had fallen so that both boys tackled the sports questions, and both teams had an equal number of pie pieces. Angela managed to stick to Arts and History questions. Booth and I tried to keep to the Science and Literature questions-- when Booth answered a question about Shakespeare with a direct quote, Jack's eyes practically popped out of his head. I had been so engrossed in the game that I hadn't noticed a gradual increase in my headache, until we paused while Angela got up to use my bathroom. During the lull, I patted down the bedcovers for the PCA button, then found it, switching it to my left hand to press when my right fumbled it. Booth caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. "Headache worse?"

"Yes."

He walked over to the end of the bed and picked up my chart, leafing through it. "No one's been by in about an hour and a half."

"We've had visitors."

"Still." He walked out into the hall and returned a few moments later. "Shift change meeting. Someone will be down shortly." Settling back by my side, he tilted my chin up toward the light of the lamp to look into my eyes. "Pupils are even. Here," he said, pulling my right hand into his lap, and laying his index finger in my palm, "Squeeze." I managed to get my fingers closed around his finger, but that was it.

"That's it. No weird shooting pains, though." Angela had come back into the room as this interaction was taking place, and moved to sit on Jack's lap. "Here, hand me that butterscotch pudding, Ange. Booth ate my vanilla one earlier." I shot him a sidelong grin.

"It was going to go bad, Bones. It's a sin to waste food."

"Yeah, yeah, starving children, Africa, etcetera. Booth, it's hospital pudding. It's probably so full of preservatives that it will outlast the cockroaches."

"Appetizing, Dr. B."

Angela handed me the pudding, and I accepted it with my left hand, putting it in my lap and removing the lid. I then reached forward, again with my left hand, and picked up the spoon. They were all looking at me intently, as I ignored them paying attention to the fact that I wasn't using my right hand.

"Stop staring at me while I eat this disgusting excuse for butterscotch, will you? Jack, tell me again about the corn pollen?"

I was listening intently to his description of the situation of the cornfields relative to the court where Clark had found blood residue matching the victims. He'd been able to pinpoint the date of death working from the meteorological data about wind direction and speed, so the evidence was gathering. It was not anything that had come up in one of our cases before, so I was inquiring as to how he'd chosen the formulae that yielded the date of death, when a wave of nausea shook me and I clapped my hand over my mouth. Booth, quick instincts intact, pushed me forward so I was leaning slightly over the side of the bed, and hooked the trash barrel sitting on the floor over with his foot, grabbing it and shoving it onto the floor directly below me.

"Jack, get the nurse."

I heaved again, and lost the food I'd so painstakingly eaten today into the barrel. The sight of it made me nauseous all over again, so I closed my eyes as my stomach lurched. The smell of it was wafting up, and I heaved again, tears streaming from my eyes as my head pounded even through the morphine.

"Angela, there's two plastic tubs in the bathroom and one in the closet. Get them all. She needs fresh ones, the smell makes her sicker."

He was sitting beside me, his hand again on my forehead, holding my hair back as I lay half off the side of the bed. Angela's hands appeared and moved the barrel away, and moved a clean tub into my line of view. I drew in a breath of untainted air gratefully, but found it was a mistake. Even air was too much for my battered stomach to take. I heaved again, and opening my eyes, looked down. Two bright splatters of blood, then a third, fourth, fifth, splashed into the puddle of vomit I'd produced. I raised a hand to my nose, touched it. My fingers came away bloody. "Fuck," I said, then grabbed the side of the bed as another wave shook me and I filled the container again.

"What is that? Jesus, is her nose bleeding?"

There were voices, and feet running, and the sting of another damned needle that was going to leave another damned bruise, but I was focused on the tub Angela had swapped out, and was watching in detached fascination as the blood dripping from my nose began to cover the bottom of the tub in technicolor splatters. "Love you guys, Seeley, love," I gasped, right before another heave sent a stabbing pain through my head that sent my vision black.

"Temperance, you have to hold, goddamnit, hold!" I heard. I tried. I even asked I don't know who to help me, but the blackness was too persistent.


	24. Chapter 24

24

24.

Bones, I've been sitting here, watching you not wake up again, yet, after you've had your third episode of vomiting so violent it practically killed you. That was almost two days, and fully two lateral ventricle catheterizations, and one brain surgery ago, and you know how time can either compress, or go on forever? Those four days may as well have been a year. They said it's not a coma, that your brain waves and everything else are normal, and that you're just sleeping, but no one sleeps for four days, Bones.

I picked up your laptop for a few different reasons—I was too tired to pace any longer, your room's too small and the hallway's not an option, it's too far, and, well? I was too distracted to think about anything besides finishing up some of the detail things you've been not obsessed by, but so diligent about since this all started. I knew you were worried about your class, and had just had that email from Dr. Goodman, who'd offered to cover for you. And I know you've been surprised by all the friends and strangers who've come out of seemingly nowhere to help you, but I say it's about damned time. You've spent enough time putting yourself out there without a little recognition from the universe. But I'm getting ahead of myself here, and probably making no sense anyway.

So. Goodman. I checked your email (Bones… Jasper? Not much better than daisy or daffodil, much less Jupiter) to get his address, and to tell him I could use his help earlier than you had expected. It wasn't even five in the morning yet, but he immediately responded, agreeing. I wonder how many of our other friends happened to be up that morning, who I'd find if I called roll.

So I forwarded him the things you'd sent Estelle about readings, and then started looking for the lecture notes you said you'd been working on. You really need to organize your documents better, you know that? No folders, just cryptic initials and dates. Which is why my brain was paying attention to dates when I saw the file starting 'bb' and the date you got sick.

Before I say this next thing, let me preface it a little. I always enjoy reading all your books, but it sometimes will take me a whole weekend to read one, between Parker and laundry and all the other crap I don't have time for when I roll in after nine or whatever godawful time it is. I say weekend, though, too, because why would I spend time reading during the week, if I could be with you at a scene, or the diner, or at your place doing paperwork? It's been a long time since I stayed up all night (or in this case all day?) to read a book—there have been some, and I still have them. I'll read them to you, later. Who knows, maybe you've read them too.

Which is all a way to lead in to saying that when I opened that file, looking for notes for a class I couldn't care less about, but which I was doing because thinking about anything bigger than that was just too damned terrifying, I had no idea what was in there. And so, instead of boring lecture notes, I found you've been cataloging everything, tiny to small to large to enormous things that have happened since this all began, and thinking, and analyzing, and deciding, with that exquisite brain of yours. I'm not sure you meant me to read this, and if so, when, but I did, and it's done, and well, Bones, it shouldn't surprise me that you always surprise me, but it does, and you do.

So, I pulled my chair closer to your bed, and took your hand, and started to read. It was hours, I know, and the nurses came and went but didn't kick me out while they checked on you, and it probably got light and then noon and it was afternoon before I stopped and looked around, feeling like you'd taken the world and stuffed it into my chest.

You know I don't like to talk about a lot of things, and you leave me alone about it, except, as you say, when provoking an emotional breakthrough is necessary. You're the only one who knows how to give me the breathing room I need to talk about things when I'm ready, and you've always been true in taking in anything I tell you, and in listening calmly, and always accepting. Always accepting—the key words there. But until I opened this, I've always been afraid what horrible thing I tell you next will be the thing to shatter that calm, the calm I need to drown all those memories in the depths of your eyes, so they stop keeping me up at night. I owe you an apology, though. I worried that some day, you would flinch, but apparently you've contemplated all the possibilities, and decided that nothing I might tell you would affect your decision to put faith in me. To accept me.

So, I'm sorry. I was wrong to try to protect you from who I thought you didn't know I have been, or could be. You already knew.

- - -

I was talking a while about little details, how sometimes that's the only thing you can focus on. And with you, the little details have been the whole world for a while now, because I hadn't had the courage to cross that damned line, and now? The prospect of what you might say if I told you how I felt is scary only like an ant is the same as an elephant. It seems you've been exceedingly patient with my "guy hugs," and you wanted my hand on your back as much as I wanted it there.

I think it was after Charlie's case Sam Cullen claimed I'd been sucked into your orbit, but it's true. Other bodies in the universe hold no attraction for me. And when I broke it off with Camille—she wasn't surprised, but she was angry, which is why she told me I'd never been faithful to her in my heart, because my heart had always been elsewhere.

It was. My heart was always with you, but I was too chicken to admit it much less say anything, so I focused on the little things—leaving fries for you to finish, or bringing you your second large coffee of the day because it was nine in the morning and you'd probably been there since six. And of course, those 'force field' moments as Sam called them—our staring contests. Truth is, Temperance, I was never thinking very much when I was staring at you, except for things like '_wow_' or '_mine_' or '_I need you_," but I expect if I started to catalog every one of those moments, you and I would come up with the same list. You don't know what it means to know that you were paying attention to the same things, though of course, you were quicker on the uptake about it that I was. I was foolish, then, to think you were thinking of something else. Blame it on the being afraid you'd lose faith in me as my way of convincing myself you weren't interested.

Now, it's a whole different range of little things to focus on. The first time you were in the hospital, you'd scared me so badly that anything that had gone before seemed like nothing. Now, I know even that was nothing. Before, I'd been focused on getting you home, and dealing with minutiae of appointments, and paperwork, and praying every minute that the whole cancer part would just evaporate, while the part about your giving me the gift of you, and holding you, and loving you, stayed put. I've been finding it hard not to believe it's all a dream, and now, I've woken up, and it's a nightmare.

These are the details I've been focused on since we came back here. Is she breathing? Is her hand cold? Is her forehead furrowed or smooth? Is her skin pale or pink? I am listening to the doctors, and hoping they're right that you'll wake up soon. But I watched them cut you open with sharp things and things that I knew were bone saws because I haven't worked with you squints for all this time without knowing what that sounds like—all while your nose was still gushing blood. And I watched as they put some kind of tube in you, and a rush of pink fluid came out onto the bed and the floor and everyone's shoes so fast, you still in your bed because there hadn't been time to do it anywhere else. I did manage to get Jack and Angela out of the room before Henry and Delia came in.

Do you know what happened when they did? Henry blanched, before pulling some tray of glinting steel sharp things out of I don't know where, and diving in to cut you open. And Delia, who is as doubtful as you are, didn't kick me out of the room. Instead, she looked over at me as she fed Henry that tube, and said, "Pray."

It was only ten minutes, they tell me, but I'm sure I could count every drop of blood on the floor, on the bed, on your face, and every rasping breath you drew. And each one of those breaths was too much to bear, because I've seen too many people draw last breaths that sounded better than those.

As soon as that sickly-sweet-smelling fluid poured out, your color improved, and your breathing steadied. They managed to shift you to a gurney and did something with that tube, and then they were off with you at a run, so I followed, and ended up in the corner of an OR while they cleaned you up and attached a bunch of machines that don't answer the only important question—when is she coming back? They thought they were getting you stabilized, and I'm told it was two hours while all this was happening, but I could swear it was a lifetime. But I could start to see the pain creeping back into your face, and I'm afraid I may have pinned Henry to the wall by the neck before saying, "Do it again, it's starting again."

I like Henry, I do—but I wasn't in the mood for a long conversation, and I was right, because Delia checked your blood pressure and it kept going up, so they dove in again, when they unclamped that tube again, actually managed to catch some more of the fluid that came again rushing out, before someone took off in a sprint to the lab. It was a gusher, Bones, but your expression eased a little and I heard "110 over 70" and Delia clamped off that tube still draining your brain. Henry, generous soul that he is, came over.

"We need to see what's causing the fluid to keep building up. Pathology will call in ten minutes. If it's the tumor, it needs to come out—we can go in through the same incision in the soft palate we've already made. You can stay, but you have to scrub. There's a room next door—top shelf has your sizes. Scrub up to the elbows as hot as you can stand, two minutes. Go."

I don't know if I've ever shed clothes so quickly, even our first time when I was so desperate to feel your skin against mine, and then counting those 120 steamboats—Caroline's steamboats turning into "_pleaseGod_"—two syllables. One word. It counts.

Even though I swear it was less than four minutes, when I got back, they'd hooked you up to even more machines. Delia came over to say they were sedating you further, still waiting on pathology, but that it was either put in a shunt, or take that deadly thing out.

Which would you want? Neither was anything either of us had thought about. I remembered what you'd told me about uncontrolled seizures and brain damage with Andy, and decided it was better to get it all over with at once, for better or worse. I was praying it was the right decision, and then it was the only decision as the phone rang, and Delia listened, and said "You're sure," and then hung up.

"There's an abnormally high amount of pituitary hormones in the fluid. The only thing I can think of is that instead of reducing the tumor, the drug cocktails has caused it to stimulate fluid production."

Henry nodded. "This shouldn't be happening. I've never seen this before."

"Take it out."

- - -

I didn't watch the actually surgery part— I know you'll be mad I can't give you the details—but I just couldn't. Mostly, I stood in the corner watching Henry and Delia give orders and handle sharp-looking instruments and hand back more bloody gauze that I wondered that you had any left.

And then, I heard, "there it is," and "it's smooth," and "Seeley, that's good," and "I've got it," and "sutures" and all the while people were calling off numbers that meant something to them, and then they were done, and Delia said, "Call time, 02:34." It was 8:30 the night before when your hand clapped over your mouth.

And now, I'm sitting here writing this, and it's been almost four days, and I've started to try to keep this up to date for you, but every damned minute you're not awake is too long. Henry tells me it's normal, that it's not a coma, that your vitals and EEG are steady and consistent with the ones they took before, when your brilliant brain was still intact.

"It's a serious trauma, but she's strong. It shouldn't be too much longer."

Any more time is too long, Bones, because you're not sleeping like you do when you're at home. At home you breathe deeper, and you always have a little smile on your face that I like to think is for me. Right now, you've got that frown you have when you're troubled by something, but it's better than the slack faces I've seen on friends who never woke up. I hope the frown means that you're trying to get back to us.

I did start to call people when you were moved back to the ICU—one eye on you through the window from out in the hallway. I called Jack and Angela first, since he'd handle her better than I would. He didn't even say hello, just "We're down stairs. When can we come up? And who do you need me to call?"

"Twelve, room 2B."

I didn't watch the doorway, but I heard them come in while I was staring at you. Staring, because you looked to fragile to touch. I wasn't in the mood to talk, but they're family and I was mustering the energy to start to explain as they pulled up chairs on either side and sat. They looked like hell.

"I…"

"Later," said Jack. "Just, who?"

So I got up to find your phone, and handed it over. "Cam. Rebecca. Cullen. I'll call Max. The rest can wait."

Ange spoke then. "I'll sit with her." Jack took off out into the hall without further ado, and I headed out to the other end, to call your father.

Your father and I have an agreement, that can be summed up in six words, two sentences. When I arrested him, he stayed for you, but also because he knew I would kill him if he left you again, because I knew it would break your heart. Really-- he said, "I'm not going anywhere," to which I responded, "Good, or I'll find you and kill you." You may be horrified by that, but your dad understood, and said, "I would say the same, but you'll never leave."

"Never have, never will."

"Never again."

That's what Max and I are saying to each other while he's giving me the chance to frisk him during our guy hug—a real one. It's also a killer's hug, but a hug nonetheless. I like him, I do. See, Bones, we have an agreement, and I trust him to keep it, his "Never again" to my "Never have, never will."

So I dialed his number, dreading the response.

"Max."

"Booth."

"You'd better come."

"I'm two days away. I'll leave now."

"Just get here, and call Russ."

"On my way." And that was it. I didn't need to say more—we understand each other in a lot of ways.

At about 20 hours in, I made Jack take Angela home. He said he'd be back in four hours, once he'd gotten her to sleep. I wasn't trying to stay awake by then, sleep just wouldn't come, so I felt the phone ring. Rebecca.

"Parker wants to come."

"Do you think he should?"

"It might be worse if he didn't." So I arranged for Jack to bring him by when he and Ange returned.

Parker didn't say anything to me when he arrived, just patted my cheek as he crawled across my lap onto the bed. He picked up your hand, and looked back.

"She said she might get sicker."

"She did."

"She'll get better. She said she wasn't going to Heaven yet, because she'd miss you too much."

Bones, if you hadn't already ripped my heart out a thousand times since I've known you, only to put it back, better, well, this would be the kicker.

"Thanks, bub."

"Dr. Bones always does what she says she will." He was so sure, so I let him be for both of us. And then he asked me.

"Can we sing her the bedtime story? She'll sleep better."

Angela's hand had been on my arm—when he asked, she gripped me so hard she left bruises. But I can't say no to him when it's important, and if this wasn't important than nothing in the history of the world ever was, so I said, "Okay, but be quiet. There are other sick people sleeping."

So he started—"_I've been thinkin' bout/All the times you told me/You're so full of doubt/You just can't let it be…_"

Bones, I don't know how he knows the words. We only sang it to him what, two or three times? But Angela and Jack knew it too, and joined me as we listened to Parker's reedy voice continue, "_But I know/If you keep coming back for more/Then I'll keep on tryin'/  
Keep on tryin'_" and Temperance, I swear, you started breathing more deeply, and your frown relaxed a little. And when we'd finished your bedtime song, Parker sat back with a smile, and said, "See? She's just tired. She'll wake up soon."

He sounded so sure, as he gave you a kiss, then climbed back into my lap and patted my face, saying "Take a nap, Daddy." Who was I to argue?

- - -

Parker insisted that Jack and Angela bring him back every night to sing you your bedtime song, and one or the other of our own little family would come by for a few hours a day, so I could call Max, or my parents, or Goodman or Cullen. Max arrived in the middle of the night the third night, patting me on the back as he came in. "Get some sleep, son. I'll watch. If anything changes, I'll wake you." I believed him, Bones—he's the only person I know as vengeful and as vigilant as I am.

It was only three hours until I gasped awake, this time having actually run out of time like the Gravedigger had said. "She's fine, Booth, she's fine," came your Dad's voice out of the darkness. Regardless, I was awake, so I got up and settled in the chair next to him. Silently, we both agreed it was too dark out to talk about even darker things. I gave him the keys to our place so he could crash—he'd driven straight through, and was exhausted, and had to leave in another day because of some problem Hallie was having. He'd already promised Russ he would watch the girls.

Anyway, your Dad came back later that morning, and Angela not much longer after that. The three of us were keeping vigil when my phone rang. Cullen. So I stepped out in the hall—he'd been calling every day to ask after you.

"Sam. She's still sleeping."

"No change yet?"

"No."

There was a long pause. "Booth. Look—something came up while I was trying to finish off the paperwork on the contractor status change. You know I have to physically review the State file for all Bureau hires?"

"Yes. So what? She's already got more clearance than some agents."

"That's true, but . . . I can't get her file from State."

"What? Why?"

"I don't have enough clearance."

It didn't really surprise me. All those digs you were going on in the most Godforsaken parts of the world, and no one would ever tell me when you'd be back or when they'd last heard from you, or why and how long you'd be delayed? I'd always had a feeling State, or someone like State, was involved—my own experiences with them in the past kept me from asking more questions. You would have told me, if you thought it was safe to.

"Bones is just full of surprises."

Another pause. "Here's another one. She had _your_ clearance bumped—last week. You can get the file, but I can't."

"Who do I have to talk to?" He gave me the name and the number.

Holy fuck, Bones. Wait, did I say that aloud?

"That's what I said," came Sam's voice.

"I'll make the call. Sam… thanks."

I dialed the phone then, before I lost my nerve.

He answered, sounding the same. Always the same.

"Sir. It's Booth."

"Booth. It's been a while. Cullen call you?"

"Yes."

"How is Temperance?"

"As well as can be expected. She's stable, but hasn't yet woken from surgery."

"Well, we've all been worried about her. Look—I'll send over her file. She put in for an ostensible increase for you—she knew that Cullen was going to call, so she had to make it look right, but your clearance has always been intact, underlying."

"I'd understood that to be the case, sir."

"Anyway, there won't be a problem, the courier will be over shortly. But … we'll miss working with her—she was one of our best, right up there with you." Bones-- _was_?

"Sir?"

"She resigned last week."

I gave him the room number, and disconnected, staring down at the phone. Temperance—what have you been doing?

- - -

Your father took in the look on my face when I came back in the room, and instantly said, "What's wrong?"

I shook my head. "Just a surprise Bones had up her sleeve." Ange looked puzzled, Max suspicious. "Look, ah, you two. I have to ask you to leave. There's a courier . . . coming by with . . . something I have to read, and you can't be here while I deal with it. It's something I have to deal with soon."

Max nodded. "Call when we can come back."

"As soon as I can." And then he was gone, melting back into the hall. Bones, I hope I still move like that when I'm his age.

Angela looked even more haunted than she had been, and she grabbed me around the waist before letting go and looking back up at me.

"Angela. It's really okay—but you guys just don't have clearance, and it's something I have to do if … in case…"

She shook her head. "It's Guatemala. And Chile. And El Salvador. And Kurdistan. And Somalia. And the Sudan. All of those hellholes. I don't know anything more than that, but I know that's got to be what it is."

"I'd figured. I promise I'll call."

- - -

The courier arrived not long afterward, and handed me the file. I practically collapsed right there—yours is two inches thicker than mine.

"You can wait outside the room," I said, motioning. He hesitated, until I added, "It's alright, I have my weapon." He nodded, and left. I closed the door, turned on the light next to your bed, and took your hand before I started to read.

- - -

I now understand why very little scares you, and why you can keep going even as you're petrified. And I regret all over again thinking you couldn't handle my secrets. Yours are a thousand times worse. Bones—there's not much to say, except I'm amazed all over again at who you are and what you do.

It took me almost four hours to get through your file, my eyes gritty. I would sometimes blink, sure I'd misread something because of lack of sleep, but it was never that. It was true, what I'd read. The last two things in the file were your emails from last Friday, requesting my clearance "increase," and giving your resignation—sent right before Jared showed up, and not long before this most recent horror unfurled. I don't know if you've already read my file—probably not, there's an honor among thieves of sorts for that kind of thing—but you'd have known I was already cleared, just covertly. But Sam didn't know, only one other person at the Bureau did, and I'd used the cover clearance for years, until I'd almost forgotten myself about the rest.

You didn't give a reason for the resignation, aside from the spare and plain phrase "I am no longer able to provide the dedication and time that the work requires." That's almost exactly what I wrote, right after Parker was born. Did you do it for me? For Parker? For some other reason? In any event, that part of your life is done, but now I have a better idea of some of the things you're thinking when your eyes are sad and looking far off in distance and time.

My joints cracking as I got out of the chair, I went to the door and handed the courier the file, signing the release forms, and approving you as an FBI employee, since Sam couldn't do it and only one other could. I knew that he wouldn't have a problem with it, though it had been months since we'd spoken. I felt like I'd aged thirty years reading that file, as I closed the door again and sat back down, taking your hand again.

You were so pale, your eyes sunken, and you'd lost even more weight. They've been taking wonderful care of you, Temperance, but the antiseptic and the fluorescent lights had masked your intoxicating scent, like honey, and almonds, the ocean, and lemon blossoms. I wondered what I could say to you, after what I'd just read, and only one thing came to mind.

I was so tired, so I laid my head down on your hand and told you what I hoped you would hear. I was all prayed out—you were the only one I was talking to, now.

"Bones—you're not a bad anything. Come home, Temperance."

And you gasped, and you jerked, and gasped for air again, like when I'd pulled you from that living grave, and you opened your eyes.

Thank God.


	25. Chapter 25

26

25.

I came back to myself, gasping like a swimmer who had dived too deep and barely made it to the surface. The sound of my breath rattled in my ears. I heard an answering inhalation, felt something warm leave one hand, come to my forehead.

"Thank God."

I'd managed to open my eyes, but masses of encrusted sleep made it impossible to see, and blinking didn't clear my vision. I tried to raise a hand to rub my eyes, but found I was too weak.

"Hold on. Stop. Let me get a towel." The bed sank under your weight, and a damp warm towel patted at my closed eyes, dissolving the encrustations that littered my sight. "Here, try now." I blinked again, and my eyes cleared, but you'd moved away from me already, back into the bathroom. It was dim, and it showed dark outside the window. I had an oxygen mask on, and I wondered if my old friends the central line and the Foley Catheter had made an appearance. There was a heart monitor beeping, but my limbs were so heavy that I couldn't tell what else they had me hooked up to. My throat burned.

You sank into the chair that was pulled next to the bed, the sidebar down where you'd been holding my hand. I was so shocked at your appearance that I gasped- you were practically grey with fatigue, every smile line around your eyes and mouth worn instead into creases of worry. You pulled my hand over, started chafing it between your hands. A tear slipped out of my eye as I took in how exhausted you were.

You gave me the most wan smile I'd ever seen, and said in a rasp, "Yeah, well, you don't look any better. We're not going to win any beauty pageants in the next few weeks."

I tried to smile, managed to move my hand between yours enough to approximate a squeeze. I licked my lips-- "Love you," I began. It came out as barely a whisper. My arms were starting to respond, so I took my hand from between yours to lay my hand against your cheek. Your hand came up to cover mine, and you turned your face, eyes closed, into my palm and laid a kiss in its center. My other hand came up, then, and I managed to move my arm so my hand was flat on my chest. I was trying to get my hand to motion the "come here" gesture, but I just managed to scratch the covers with my fingers. You looked up at the sound, and I moved the hand on your cheek to the side of your neck, pulling you a little bit. This time, my other hand managed to pat my chest, and I tugged at you again.

"Come here." My voice was gaining strength, though it was like swallowing razorblades.

"Temperance, no, you stay put. You've been extremely sick."

I tugged again. "Please?"

Standing, you pulled up the covers, slid into the bed. So gently, you laid down, then slid an arm under me, pulling me closer. You were concentrating so hard on not moving too quickly that the lines on your face etched themselves deeper as you watched me for any sign of discomfort. Finally, you finished adjusting us so that I lay on my side, my head against your chest, and I could hear your heart beating beneath me. I reached up and laid my hand over your heart, looking up at you in the dim light of the hallway light coming in to the room. "Love of my life."

"Love of my life. I knew you wouldn't give up."

"I knew you wouldn't give up." Your other arm came up, your hand closing over mine, letting me feel the steady beat of your heart, our heart.

At some point in the night, a nurse came in and checked my pulse. I shifted slightly under the touch. "Sleep, Cherie. You sleep, so he'll sleep. You'll be fine."

- - -

I woke again, the light bright against my eyelids. I was still clasped against you, your heart still beating under my head, your chest still rising. I opened my eyes, to see Angela sitting in the chair next to us, sketching, tears streaming down her face. Looking back up, she met my eyes, and put down the sketch pad. I smiled at her. I still had the mask on. My throat still burned. And I didn't think I'd be running any marathons soon. But I could smile, so I did. And I could mouth "hey," so I did.

"Hey," she whispered back. "Welcome back." I smiled again, and nodded. "Sleep some more, Bren. We've got all the time in the world to talk." I did as my friend suggested, and fell back to sleep with the sound of your heart beating and her pencil scratching on paper, together making a sweet lullaby.

- - -

I next heard your voice murmuring, low, the warmth of your chest still beneath me, though you'd shifted to sit up more. The other voice was male, gravelly, and it took me a moment to place it as my father's. As I woke, your words began to make more sense. "They put in a catheter to release some of the fluid in the lateral ventricles, but it built up again almost immediately. The doctor decided there'd been an idiosyncratic interaction with the tumor-reducing cocktail she was on, and the tumor itself was stimulating the production of excess fluid even after they discontinued the original drugs. At that point, there wasn't much choice but to do the transsphenoidal surgery, but they were able to get the whole thing out, and as soon as they did, the fluid levels dropped back to normal. She'll be in another week, then home. She's going to be hoarse for a bit-- the surgery involves a lot of mucking around in the sinus cavities."

"Thank God," said my father, and you echoed him. My hand in yours twitched, and your arm squeezed me gently.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Your dad's here. Want to say hello?" I nodded, pulled up a bit, turned my head to where Dad's voice seemed to be emanating. "Hi, Dad."

"Hey, baby. You gave us quite a scare there, but you're better now." I nodded.

"Hallie?"

"She's fine. Everyone's fine. You sleep some more." I did.

- - -

I finally woke for good, feeling mentally alert if physically weak. I was lying on my back, and you were curled atop me, your head half-buried in my neck, one hand in my hair, a leg thrown across mine. You were breathing deeply, and shifting upward so I could look at your face, I could see your color was better, and that the lines of exhaustion had eased, though not entirely. The arm not trapped to my side by your weight came up, and I stroked your face as you slept. Dear man. My oxygen mask was gone, so I curled my head up from my pillow to place a kiss on your head. I threaded my fingers through your hair, watching, trying to memorize the planes of your face anew. Slowly, your breathing changed, and you opened your eyes to me, as I traced your forehead. "Hello there," I whispered.

You blinked, an innocent smile dawning on your face. "Hi." Your hand in my hair flexed as your fingers strayed to the side of my face. I turned my head to kiss the fingertips tracing my cheek. Pushing yourself up, you lay on your side so that we could look in each others' faces, your hand still stroking hair from my face as mine tried to memorize your features. I ran a finger across your lips, and you kissed it. I laid my hand along your cheek as your hand moved behind my neck, both of us drawing the other close, until our breath and our lips and our eyes reunited, and locked, became whole again.

- - -

I managed to convince Delia and Henry to move me out of the ICU the next day. Maureen and Jeanne somehow managed to get themselves temporary transfers down to my floor, and marshaled an array of other nurses to assist me as I slowly practiced sitting, standing, balancing, and made my shaky way once around the floor while navigating the IV pole before I broke out in a sweat. The pathologist came to talk to me about the tumor, which he'd saved for me, and the idiosyncratic reaction I'd had to the drug cocktails. I agreed to provide a patient's perspective so he could write a case study of what had happened, when I could use my voice for more than 5 minutes at a time.

The third day, I made it three times around the unit before my knees wobbled, your arms behind my back and under my legs before I'd really even registered I might fall. But we treated it as a cause for celebration. I had pudding and the filling from a pie for dessert, though I was still mostly having soft foods because it still hurt to swallow.

I ran through stacks of paper, scribbling notes furiously. Angela came everyday for a lunchtime visit. My first day out of the ICU, while you were in the shower, content to leave me alone only so long as Angela was present, I tried to enlist her help in getting you out of the hospital.

"_Make him go home tonight. He needs to see Parker_."

"Bren, Parker's been here—he insisted that Dr. Bones needed company while she slept. But they had a vacation planned this past few days, so that's why he hasn't been back to visit."

"_He did_?" I shook my head. "_But Booth's been here the whole time_."

"We were picking up Parker up after school and taking him back and forth to Rebecca's from here." Oh, Ange. Jack. What had we done to deserve you?

"_Still, Booth should spend some time away from here, at home_. _This is too hard on him_."

"Bren, his home is you. Wherever you are."

My hand shook. "_Me too_."

"How's your throat?"

"_Lousy. But we'll be back to bickering in no time_."

"You're doing a pretty good job of it now, though I'll admit it's funny when he just crumples up whatever you've written without reading it, and throws it across the room."

I snorted, then winced. "_Hah hah_."

- - -

Henry and Delia came by that next day to examine me, you sitting by and letting me ask the questions even though you'd been mother-henning me when it was just the two of us or there were visitors.

Henry began. "Your incision is healing well, good drainage. Everything's fine on the MRI, the EEG. It's a miracle your blood oxygen didn't dip any lower."

"Talking?"

"A few more days. Hot tea and honey are okay. You'll have some voice fatigue for a while. Between the incision and the straining from the vomiting, and the bile, your vocal cords and throat are just worn out right now. But there shouldn't be any permanent damage. You strain too much now, though, and there will be. I think your publisher would be annoyed if you couldn't do any more public readings." Delia shot me a sympathetic look; she was really so nice, but never gave any false comfort.

"Home?"

Henry responded. "Saturday. You should come in Monday for another checkup and MRI."

"Chemo?"

Delia sighed, thought. "Not next week. You still need to recover a bit more. Concentrate on eating and sleeping." Then she looked at you. "It's probably not a good idea for her to be alone the first few days. And while I'm not your doctor, you could stand a week off, too."

"I'd planned on it."

- - -

Cam and Sully came by after work, Cam seating herself in the larger armchair, and Sully perching on the arm, though there were two others, empty, in the room. You gave me a small smile.

They had wrapped Henry Clifford's case. Sully had gone back to the employers, and "smelled something off," so he walked the site, still under construction, that Clifford had been supervising. His carpentry background allowed him to see that the framing and materials being used were dangerously off-specification, and after speaking confidentially with some of the workers, he learned that that contractors were also the site developers, in trouble financially, and under major pressure to finish the project. He got a warrant, and brought Charlie and Rodgers with him to arrest all three men as soon as he found that even more materials were being replaced with less expensive, less sturdy substitutes.

"There was a bit of a chase with the last one, Booth, and Rodgers took off after him like a bat out of hell. He tackled the guy before he'd gotten twenty yards. You're right, we've got to get him out of that lab. Said he'd never had so much fun in his life."

Your arm tightened around me. "Bones actually suggested it. Tell Sam I said to start the paperwork."

The three men eventually confessed; they'd beaten and killed Clifford after they learned he was planning to meet with the building inspector. Caroline cut a deal that allowed their families to keep their personal homes; all other personal and business assets were forfeit to pay the employees, the supplier's, the victim's compensation fund.

The conversation turned to Emily Harris. Cam shook her head. "We've all been through those films—it's still those two and it's impossible to tell. Both women were cut from the team."

I thought a bit, then reached for my notepad. "_Did they come in for questioning_?"

Sully nodded.

"_Filmed_?"

"Sure. It was at the Hoover."

I pointed at the TV—it had a DVD player. "_Send Clark over, we'll watch them, lend a fresh eye_."

You rumbled, but I shot you a look, then grabbed my pad again. "_What's the difference between VH-1 Behind the Music and a few interview films?_"

"VH-1 is not work."

"_Keeping up with all those people I've never heard of? Work. Postural analysis is a walk in the lake, compared_."

"Walk in the park, Bones." You turned, sighing, to Sully and Clark. "How long are the films?"

The two of them thought. "Forty-five minutes, for all the relevant ones?"

I wrote, shoved the pad over at them. "_Tell Clark to come by after breakfast tomorrow_." I wanted to wrap this one up, too.

"Not before 10. You didn't sleep enough today." I grabbed his hand, squeezed it, licked my lips.

"Chill, Booth." It came out as a rasp, and hurt like hell, but the look of surprise on all of your faces as I used the term correctly was worth it.

The conversation then turned to office gossip.

"Clark has a date with Amelia from dispatch." Sully advised.

"How did that happen?" you asked. "She's a cute girl, but real choosy, and fierce. Have you ever seen her shoot?"

Cam smiled. "We took him to O'Reilly's last week, and their eyes literally met across the room."

I poked you, wrote. "_What's O'Reilly's_?" The other two, leaning forward, looked at you and laughed. You did not look comfortable.

"Cop bar." You weren't looking at me.

"_Bureau bar? Or cop bar_?"

"Both." Now you were turning red.

"_And we never went there why_?"

Sully laughed at your growing discomfort, and you reddened further. "Temp, he didn't want any one zooming his game."

My eyebrows furrowed, but before I could write, Cam said, "Don't waste paper. You don't know what that means."

I looked over at you again. Now you were rubbing the back of your neck and looking up at the heart monitor, which I knew you couldn't read, so you were just avoiding me. I poked you. "Bones, if we went to O'Reilly's there would have been a parade of drunk cops trying to buy you a drink while we had paperwork to do."

Cam choked. "Paperwork? You did paperwork at Sid's and the Diner?" She looked faintly horrified.

"_No. We did paperwork at my place, after supper, or over takeout. Booth, you're not answering, which leads me to conclude that your motivations in not bringing me to O'Reilly's stem not from a desire to manage our cases efficiently but rather from a need to hoard a possession you viewed as yours_."

"Damn, she writes fast," murmured Cam.

"It's loud in there. You can't hear yourself talk. And the burgers are lousy. And," you said, warming to your excuses, "even their vegetarian food has bacon in it."

Sully laughed. "Uh-huh. Booth didn't want to get ragged about why he hadn't tapped his hot partner yet."

You shot him a look that would melt plastic, but Sully'd been working with us too long now, and he just smirked before saying, "Sorry, man, but it's true."

"Bones, those guys are all assholes. Don't know how to respect a woman." You were mumbling now, and Cam was working hard to stifle what I suspected was a guffaw.

I squeezed your hand, then resumed writing. "_It really would have been easier if you'd just peed on my leg. Or, 'been a cop' when I told you to_." You laughed then, then some more as I waggled my eyebrows at you.

"_Lone wolf_."

"Insufferable know-it-all."

"_Territorial alpha-male_."

"Smarty-pants."

"_Love of my life_."

"Love of my life."

Cam muttered to Sully—"C'mon, Peanut, let's go get something to eat. I'm going into sugar shock with the sweetness twins over there making goo-goo eyes again."

- - -

I didn't wake until 9:30 the next morning—my breakfast tray was sitting on the table next to the bed, and I could hear the shower running. I'd swung my legs over the bed, and was sitting, deciding whether to risk the wrath of Booth to try standing on my own, when you opened the door back into the room.

"Bones, what are you doing?"

"Waiting. Help me up so I can kick your ass. Deanna gave me a sedative, didn't she?" God—I sound like a thirty year smoker.

You came over and boosted me up to standing, then pulled me against you. "Trust me Bones, you need the sleep."

"I want to go home."

"Three more days."

"Threaten to shoot someone. Make Caroline get a habeas writ. I'll sleep more at home and won't need more drugs."

You kissed the top of my head and repeated yourself. "Three more days. Want a shower before Clark gets here?" I nodded. "Want a nurse?"

I shook my head. "I'll leave the door open."

"Good. Thanks."

I made my way to the closet and pulled out one of your dress shirts and some shorts for changing. The johnnys were so cold and uncomfortable. The nurses had complained a bit at first, but since your shirts were button-down, they could still listen to my heart and do all the other things they needed to do. Angela had also brought some of our things from home, so I wouldn't have to use the hospital's harsh soap.

I was reveling in taking a shower on my own. The first day after I'd woken, I only got a sponge bath. The next, the nurse insisted on helping me. Yesterday, Jeanne had sat just outside the shower curtain in case I needed her, telling me blackmail-worthy stories about Caroline while I worked quickly, hoping my legs would hold me long enough to finish. Today, I felt much stronger, and wanted the quiet and privacy of hot water beating down on me.

I finished and got dressed, still toweling my hair as I emerged. The nurses had changed the bed while I was gone, and you'd taken your place on the bed, reviewing some more paperwork or something.

"You accuse me of being a workaholic." You looked up and smiled. "Just some new policy drafts Sam asked me to read."

I tossed my towel back in the bathroom, and made my way back into bed, you getting up the last three steps to put your hand on my back and give me a boost as I swung my legs back up and settled under the covers again. Sliding back in behind me, you pulled my brush off the side table and started in on my hair, something you'd started doing since I woke up. I could do it myself, now, but you needed the contact and so did I, so I just closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of your hands in my hair.

Once you'd finished, you pulled over the breakfast tray, and opened the lid. "Oooh, look, Bones! Cheese sticks, apple slices, and tea! Food with colors!"

I laughed, though it hurt, then tapped the tea cup. Understanding, you went to get more. I was going to need a lot of it to get through whatever explanations we'd need.

Clark and Sully came in as I was finishing my cheese sticks. "Whoa! T.! Food that requires molars! Way to go."

"Funny, Stretch," I rasped, throwing a piece of apple at him that hit him right in the nose. "Less taunting, more forensic anthropology."

Sully pulled a chair over next to me, as you settled back in behind me and Clark loaded the first disk. I motioned him to sit in front of me, saying, "Stop the film if I poke you." He nodded, and began.

"This is Lisa Harris. Cut the day before the murder."

The interrogation rooms film automatically from the time the door is unlocked until it is locked from outside again, so Clark forwarded through the first part, where he and Sully had set up the room, resuming the regular speed at the point at which Sully entered, leading the witness in. I watched her walk in, stop to take in her surroundings, then move forward to sit opposite Sully and Clark. While the interview was essentially cordial, Fisher was not particularly shaken by Harris' death.

The interview concluded, and Sully and Clark stood, the witness standing a moment later. There it was.

I poked Clark, waved my hand in what I hoped he's see meant "rewind." He rewound to the point right before she stood up, then looked back at me as I waved him to let it go forward. Fisher walked away from the camera, and left the room. I poked Clark again, and rasped out, "From the beginning."

Clark obliged, running the film back to the beginning, and replaying her entrance through when she took her seat. Watching it again, I was certain. I swallowed some tea.

"It's not her."

All three were gaping—we'd watched five minutes of elapsed film. "Rerun it from the start," I squeaked, then had some more tea.

"Okay, pause. Her gait is off. She's favoring her right leg. Run it again?" I watched, doing what you call my squinty thing. "Stop. Right there."

Clark turned, blinking. "She used her hand to brace herself not even three seconds before she sat, and she's leaning away from her right side."

"Exactly. Okay…" I took some more tea. "To the end again."

This time, Clark caught it, and paused the film as the witness placed her right hand on the table, just for a moment, compensating for what was clearly an old knee injury. He ejected the disk.

"No way it's her. I must have watched this twenty times. Want to confirm with the practice films?"

You squeezed my shoulder, then answered. "Please. Caroline loves to draw you squints' testimony out. We'd be thwarting her flair for the dramatic if we couldn't let her beat the jury over the head with all of the evidence."

Sully flipped through the remaining disks. "Here—this is the day before cuts." He pointed out Harris, and Fisher, and the other suspect, Sarah Vincent. Both of the suspects were playing on the scrimmage team opposite Harris.

"Are Harris and Vincent the same position?" I asked.

You answered—"Yes. Center. Fisher's a forward."

I watched about half of the scrimmage, until Fisher had the ball and was running down the court.

"Rewind one minute." I watched again. "See? There—same uneven gait. Now watch," more tea, "she always pushes off with her left foot when she's turning. Her medicals should show an old ACL repair. She wouldn't have quite the strength in that knee to account for the pelvic misalignment."

Clark was gaping. "T. I see it now, but how? How did you see that?"

I smiled. "Booth blew out his ACL in Kosovo—he has the same gait alteration when walking, running and kicking, though he doesn't do the hand thing when he sits. And he's right side dominant, too, and always slightly overcorrects on the pivot leg when he's kicking something."

"I do?"

"You limp when it's cold, too. Just a little. Your right shoulder goes up half an inch."

"Bones, how do you _do_ stuff like that?"

"It's my job. Plus, I've been taking second to your point for how many years now? I always enjoyed the view. You have a very cute butt, you know."

Both Sully and Clark were still shaking their heads over the identification, though Sully snorted at the look on your face when I complimented you in front of them.

I started my second cup of tea. "Okay, boys, voice is running out. Let's see the rest of the film and confirm Vincent."

As I watched the two womens' interaction, I could see it. The two women were highly competitive, but Harris clearly had an edge. She was just faster, stronger, more graceful. At one point, Vincent, who was balancing too far forward, was knocked down by Harris as Vincent tried to steal the ball, and laded on her rear.

"Oh!!" cried the three of you, forgetting this was a hospital until I shushed you all and made you get up to shut the door.

"Clark, rewind right there, let me see that again." I looked. "Can you zoom in on her shoulders? How about her face?"

He complied, and I could see it. "She's furious. Look at the muscles crawling on the back of her neck, how her shoulders are bunched, the way her hands are clenched. Her jaw is so tight, too, but her face…"

"Totally blank," you supplied, sounding satisfied. "That's her. Let's roll the rest just to finish."

Time and again, Harris bested Vincent, making shots, avoiding steals, dribbling around her and through Vincent's legs, all three of you managing to keep your cries of "Oh!" and "Snap!" and "Stuffed!" to a dull roar. Right before the clock ran out, Harris had the ball again and took it down the court, Vincent playing close defensively. Harris feinted right, then switched and blew past Vincent to make a layup. Vincent, overreaching for the ball, landed flat out on the court as Harris scored and the whistle blew time. Harris turned and saw Vincent on the floor. Walking back over, she extended Vincent a hand, but Vincent ignored it, her face an utter mask, as she pushed herself up and walked away.

Clark ejected the disk and handed it back to Sully. I smiled as I looked at all of you. "And that, boys, is what we call a little bit of bad ass forensic anthropology."

- - -

You shooed the boys out of my room not long afterward, complaining that I hadn't finished my breakfast, and threatening to arrest anybody and everybody, even the team, if they came back to visit before supper. As you stood with them talking in the hallway, and handed Sully the folder you'd been reading earlier, I guiltily picked up the remaining pieces of apple left on my tray and set to work, even though I wasn't really hungry, and hadn't really been the entire time since I'd woken up. I knew it was the drugs affecting me, but it was hard to apply logic when my body wasn't interested in listening. You came back in, turning off the overhead light that had been on as we'd watched the video, then sat behind me, taking your now-usual place as my pillow, my bedwarmer, my rock.

Leaning your head on the pillow so you could look at me, you said, "I told them they're on their own for work for the next week, at least, no more Booth, no more Bones. No paperwork from the Bureau, no Kathy & Andy, no more legal paperwork, nothing. If they want to visit, it had better be sunshine and puppies and unicorns or DVDs and popcorn. And I am limiting visits. We're both too damned tired."

"Okay."

"Temperance?" Your voice hesitated, and your brow furrowed a bit. It was the look you got when you were about to tell me something you didn't think I would like.

"What, Seeley?"

"I was going through your laptop to get Goodman the syllabus and course notes you wrote up, and I found your other book project."

Oh. I turned a bit, brought my hand to your cheek as I looked you in the eye. "Seeley--it's not a book project. I thought it might be, at first, but it's not. It's just a ... collection of thoughts and memories. A way of keeping track of things. I wanted to make a tangible record. It's ... too private, now."

You smiled then, a hint of humor in your eyes. "No-- it's perfect the way it is, though it's . . . um, even spicier than the Kathy & Andys. You should submit it when it's done, but not before then. I want to see how it ends."

"Me too. But I wouldn't leave it the way it is-- it's too..."

"Temperance. It's perfect the way it is. Really. I . . . added some things to it."

"You did?" I hadn't expected that. I don't known what I'd expected, though I always planned to show it to you, one way or the other.

"Like you said. A way of keeping track of things. I think it'll be helpful. You can read it, if you want. Or wait." Your eyes were expectant, and I wondered what you'd written.

"Can I read it now?" You nodded, bent over to the side table, and pulled the laptop back over from where it was resting, plugged in, ready light blinking. Settling it in my lap, you opened the screen, and opened the new document you'd started. I began to read.

"_Bones, I've been sitting here, watching you not wake up again, yet, after you've had your third episode of vomiting so violent it practically killed you. That was almost two days, and fully two lateral ventricle catheterizations, and one brain surgery ago, and you know how time can either compress, or go on forever?" _


	26. Chapter 26

26

26.

When I finished reading what you'd written, oh, Seeley, my love, your arms wrapped around me and your chin on my shoulder as I read, and re-read, and tears streaming down my cheeks, I leaned back into you.

"I love you, Booth."

"I love you, Bones. Is it okay … that I…"

"Booth. This… is better than anything I could ever have hoped to have written. It's beautiful. You … should keep going. If you want to."

"I think I will. But that's enough for today. You're tired. Take a nap."

"You too."

I shoved over, making room for you in the bed, curling into your side with my head on your chest, as your hand found its home, like always, at my back. You always have my back.

- - -

I thought I was sleeping when I heard it.

"Should we wake them?" Angela.

"No, I brought some work," Jack responded.

"Can I keep them company?" piped Parker's small voice.

"Go for it, kid. Need a hand up?"

"No, I've got it."

I woke then, as Parker's weight settled next to me. "Hey, bub," I whispered, watching as he settled between us, curling into your stomach. You shifted, but didn't wake, as your body made room for him.

He whispered back, "Hi, Daddy. Is Dr. Bones feeling better?"

"Mmm-hmm. She just was helping Dr. Edison earlier, so she's pretty tired."

"I'm tired, too."

"Bub, you're not tired. It's five o'clock."

"Yeah, but I want to stay here with you and Dr. Bones, and you're tired." The kid is too logical, Bones. You're a bad influence, even my five-year old can out-argue me now.

"Alright, Bub, just don't kick Dr. Bones, okay?" He finished settling between us, pulling himself under the arm I had across you until you were both under my grasp, and I closed my eyes again, saying, "Don't think I won't shoot you both if anyone ever finds out how whipped I am."

"Aw, Jack, he's feeling better. He just threatened to shoot us."

I snorted to myself. Those two have no respect, none whatsoever. It's a good thing I love them, and that you made it impossible not to.

- - -

I think we got another hour in before they started clanking dinner trays in the hallway, and I woke. As I sat up, I saw you had pulled Parker further up to your chest, and that you'd curled your arm behind him, cradling his head in your still-too-thin hand. He was fast asleep, and you'd turned slightly, onto your side over him, until he was mostly sheltered beneath you.

Oh, Bones. I don't think I can really ever express how it feels to see how you've taken in Parker the way you have, but you've always been great with him, even as you've said you never want kids. But I can tell, Bones, that your decision was made for other reasons than your career, no matter what others might think. I saw how tender you were with Sean and David Cook, how you look all our child witnesses in the eye and tell them nothing but the truth, as kindly but clearly as possible. It's not antipathy to children that made up your mind—just the reverse—too much empathy. I suppose that's why I introduced you to Parker—I knew you'd be as careful and as honest with him as you were with any of "our" children, even if you and I were fighting like cats and dogs, as we often were, back then.

You don't want kids because there's too much in the world that can hurt them, and I get that, though I still think that the joy is worth the gamble. But seeing you, as sick as you are, gather him to you and protect him like that? Well, it's another example of the way you rip my heart out and put it back into me, healed a hundred times more than it had been.

I laid a kiss on your cheek, and on Parker's, before rolling off to sit on the side of the bed. Jack was typing something on your computer, a file open in front of him. Angela was scratching away at her sketchpad.

"Hey," I said, softly, rubbing my face.

Jack replied, also keeping his voice low. "Hey, bro. Just writing up that last of that report on Harris."

"Did Vincent confess?"

"Yeah. Ugly, too. She was only mad she'd been caught."

Ange cleared her throat, put down her sketchpad, and pulled up a pile of papers, settling them in her lap. "Stop with the work talk, right now. We have other things to discuss. Seeley, I found that notebook you told me to look for. I swear, if I didn't love you guys already… but anyway. You guys should quit your day jobs and start a 'Booth and Brennan Most Romantic Ever Wedding Planning Agency.' Jack and I had a few ideas to fill in the blanks, and I have some things I need to ask Bren, but otherwise, I can make some calls later tonight and get everything else settled." She shuffled the papers, and found what she was looking for, then handed it to me, catching my eye.

"I took the liberty of having a proof made, just to get things started—we can always change the wording, the style, or the colors, I have some samples here, but what do you think?"

I smiled and leant over to kiss her cheek. "Ange, it's perfect. How did you know?"

"You two aren't the only hopeless romantics in the world, you know."

- - -

Henry and Delia let me go home a day later, after a final checkup and stern instructions. It was interesting—Henry would start with one instruction, then Delia would finish his sentence. This went on for five minutes, until you leaned forward from behind me to whisper in my ear, "Remind you of anyone?"

I interrupted when they started repeating themselves. "Okay, I understand. I'm not going anywhere but the bed or the sofa or your office for the next week, I promise. But I do have one question."

"What is it," asked Henry.

"When can I have sex again?"

Henry turned red, you let out a strangled "Bones!" and Delia smirked, then said, "as long as you promise there aren't any headstands, trampolines, or trapezes involved, I don't see any reason why you couldn't resume a moderate level of activity."

I shot you a look. "Well, what's moderate? Because believe me, we exceed the average in pretty much every circumstance, not just at work."

Delia just laughed, as you groaned and Henry looked like he was about to faint. Then she came over to the bed, saying "Since these two prudes' ears are going to burn if we continue this conversation like adults, why not just whisper to me what's normal for you."

She placed her head next to mine, and I told her, you looking even more embarrassed than before. Pulling back, her eyebrows shot up. "Wow. Well, just, wow. What are you, Superman and Wonder Woman?"

You laughed then, and replied. "If only you knew." I love hearing you laugh, love feeling your chest rumbling and muscles clenching behind me as you laugh while you hold me.

She just shook her head, then said, "Um, well. Now I'm embarrassed. Let's say… an eighth of that until your next checkup? And, um…"

I decided to save her. "No trampolines. Don't worry, that's just crappy sex." I then changed the subject, and we finished, them leaving the room with Henry's hand at Delia's shoulders, their heads leaning together. Just before they rounded the corner, I heard Henry yelp "How much?!"

- - -

Jack and Angela insisted on driving us home. You'd grumbled, until Jack reminded you that Sully'd taken your truck in to the pool for maintenance, and that it wouldn't be ready until Monday, right before my appointment. So you'd acquiesced, merely grumbling, "Just skip the clown car, alright? Bones can't handle the potholes."

You have to admit, Booth, Bentleys are nice, and it certainly was a comfortable ride home. Although I don't think Jack appreciated it when you settled into the back seat, then waved your hand and droned, "Home, Jeeves."

- - -

They dropped us at the door, declining to come in. "We'll call you tomorrow," Angela called as they drove off. You hefted our bags and carried them up behind me, but as soon as I opened the door, I could see why they'd dropped us and run.

"What?" you said, as I pulled up short, then breathed out. "Oh."

The house had been cleaned, from top to bottom, and there were vases of flowers everywhere—daisies and daffodils and white cosmos in bunches on nearly every surface. You looked flabbergasted as I began asking "The daisies and daffodils I get, but the cosmos?"

"They're called St. Michael's flower."

"Oh my."

"Yeah."

Shaking ourselves, we came the rest of the way in and locked the door, me moving to put my things on the island as you brought the rest of the bags back to the bedroom. I opened the refrigerator, was shocked all over again. The freezer, and cabinets too.

"Seeley! The whole house is stocked with food!"

There was a pause.

"Temperance. You need to come down here." You sounded shocked.

When I got to the bedroom, I saw why.

Lying on the bed was a life-size painting, in oil. Angela tended toward an abstract style, relying on colors and the strong emotions she captured to stand in for details like clothing and facial features, the smaller details that less expressive painters focused on to compensate for the lack of meaning in their paintings. Some people didn't always understand her techniques, but no one ever misunderstood the emotions she'd capture and transform from paint on canvas into magic, into Truth.

Two figures, one larger, one smaller, lay intertwined in a field of cerulean blue and sepia brown. Neither figure's features were sketched in, but it was clear they were sleeping, in the shelter of each other's arms, the whole surrounded by a blackness so deep that I wondered how it could be merely paint.

The only light in the painting came from the two figures, who though painted in different skin tones, nonetheless combined into one source of light, nearly blinding in its intensity. At the same time, the figures captured the eye, making it impossible to look away.

Their limbs blended in to one another's, each figure's body inclined toward the other as if their own didn't matter, only the other's. There was so much love and sorrow radiating from their light that my heart leapt to my throat—and yet there was also joy, because it was clear that the two figures were whole, complete, together. The blackness surrounding was kept at bay, just by their union.

Your arms came around me as you stood behind me, resting your chin on my shoulder as we looked down. There was a card on the bed, below it, that read—

"_Sweeties—It's called 'One.' Consider it an early wedding present. All my love, Angela_."

- - -

We hung the painting there in the bedroom, over the bureau, silently in accord that it was too private, for now, to share in the public part of the house.

As we sat on the edge of the bed, still staring, transfixed, you began to ask, "When did she? She was always at the hospital?"

"I've seen her paint. She's possessed. In one weekend she painted straight through two nights, and when she was done, those two paintings won her the M.F.A. scholarship that put her through school."

"It's … she's… amazing."

"She is. We're lucky to have her."

- - -

When we got over the shock of Angela's gift—we'd sat on the bed for almost an hour, hands clasped, just staring—we went back out to explore what else they had left.

"Bones! There's three kinds of chocolate ice cream! And espresso gelato! And coffee sorbet!"

I had opened the TV cabinet. "Seeley, come look at this." You came over, bent down to take a look.

"The complete DVD series for X-Files, and Hart to Hart, and Scarecrow and Mrs. King, I didn't even know they had that on DVD, and Moonlighting! Oh, Bones, you're gonna love Moonlighting! And… OOOOH! MacGyver! And every Disney classic movie, Parker's gonna love those…"

I'd gone over to the couch to sit down, examining the piles on the coffee table. "Did you give them the notebook? There's a new edition of every one of the readings we picked out here, and a CD for each song, as well as a compilation CD."

"They insisted. Angela claimed that if we got everything planned, then you'd have to get better."

"I'm glad."

You settled next to me, then reached over. "What's that, a scrapbook?"

You brought it back over, and opened it across both our laps. The first page held a picture of us from last Halloween, an overhead zoom shot of us sitting on the steps of the platform, after we'd gotten back from finding Megan Shaw, and you'd had to kill Pete Geller. My Wonder Woman costume was wrecked, your Clark Kent glasses were crooked, and your shirt was bloody where Geller had grazed you. We were dirty, exhausted, and she'd captured the look we were sharing as I tried to apologize about the fact that you'd had to shoot Geller. It was probably the exact moment at which I'd said "You hate it," and you'd replied "But we saved the girl."

"She must have been up on the catwalk," you murmured, as we took in the caption below.

"_The heroes of our story_," she'd written.

The pages that followed set out the whole history of our partnership, from that day at the airport onward. She'd apparently clipped every news story from after we'd wrapped a case, and for each case, there was also a photo of us. Standing together on the platform, looking down at a body, or reviewing a file in my office, or laughing at some joke we'd just shared. She'd caught several "guy hugs," and what I'd come to think of as our "quiet moments," when we were staring at each other, but not speaking, because it wasn't necessary. There were some sketches, too, often of one or the other of us, alone, looking serious, or introspective. There was a lot of sadness or longing in those. Each case had the start date and wrap date, when we'd gotten a confession or conviction. There was only one, the Gravedigger, still open, and the only entry she'd made for that case was a sketch, filled in with pastels, of the two of us, sitting over that grave that wasn't a grave, filthy, exhausted, and smiling at one another like relieved, hysterical fools.

She'd filled in the scrapbook through the Harris and Clifford cases—both had wrapped while I was still in the hospital, and while the newspaper stories mentioned the work of the rest of the team, Cam and Sam Cullen were quoted as saying that our initial findings and subsequent work had driven the team to the remaining results. The Clifford case had two pictures—one, someone must have accidentally taken at the scene, from the rear, as I fell and you caught me, everything around us out of focus, but we two, sharp and distinct. The other, was you standing, hand on my back, as I held Clifford's skull up to show you and Sully the evidence of the pickaxe handle. Harris? Well, Jack must have taken a picture as I knelt over the body, you standing sentinel above as I worked, and then there was a sketch of me in my bed, looking like hell, but with a fierce light in my eyes as I pointed at the screen the first time I told Clark to pause. Is that what I look like when I've found the missing piece? Sully must have been in on this, too.

There were at least two dozen blank pages after that, the first one marked with a removable note that read, simply, "_To be continued_."

"If it wasn't so loving, it would be pretty stalkerish," you said, smiling.

"No wonder she was such a pain in the ass. I'm clearly stupid in love with you in most of these, emphasis on the stupid."

"Ah, well, Bones, at least we were stupid together."

"There's that. Always together."

It was late afternoon by that point, and we were both tired. "We should call them to thank them," I started.

You shook your head. "No, this requires an in-person visit to Hodgins Castle. I need a nap, but are you up for a little shopping and visiting, afterward?"

"Absolutely."

- - -

At 7:30, we rang their bell, bearing gelato, red wine, salad and pizzas, as well as every multi-player board and card game that we'd found at the two stores we'd gone to. I'd also picked out some puzzles featuring some famous abstract paintings for Ange, and you'd found a kid's magic set that you thought Jack would love.

Angela opened the door almost as soon as we rang the bell, calling "Hodgie, I told you they'd come over, and they've got pizza and board games."

"Did they bring Monopoly?" I heard, his voice coming from down some hallway. "I'm good at Monopoly, it runs in the family."

You rolled your eyes as we stepped in, then yelled, "Are you going to help with these bags, or lie on your velvet divan all night, oh Prince Hodgins?"

He came into the vestibule, grinning. "Welcome to Hodgins-Montenegro Manor, or 'Hodgela,' as we like to call it. C'mon in, family."


	27. Chapter 27

27

27.

We didn't do much the next few days except eat and sleep and go to my follow-up, which was fine. Rebecca brought Parker one day after school to stay the night, and we had a quiet night of chicken soup, Mary Poppins (he loved that chimney sweep song), and what was now just "the bedtime song," the three of us singing it together. We'd gone to bed at the same time he did, content in sharing our warmth and our skin in our bed again. He crept in a few hours later, waking me enough as he clambered onto the bed next to me that I cracked an eye at him.

Placing his hand on my cheek, he said "You said you'd miss Daddy too much to go, and I'm glad."

"So am I, Parker."

"Welcome home, Dr. Bones."

"It's good to be home, buddy."

And then he settled into my belly, you spooning me, and me cradling him, and slept like that until morning, you pulling him away from me to get him ready for school, and him protesting.

"Mmmph, no. Dr. Bones is warm. Leave me alone."

Like father, like son.

- - -

The first time we made love after you'd come home from the hospital again, I was terrified I'd harm you somehow. What I said before wasn't a joke, Temperance. I can't moderate or control my need for you—after restraining myself all those years, limiting myself to guy hugs, and helping you on and off with your jacket, walking with you with my hand at the small of your back, and the (for me) rash and daring gambit of moving a piece of hair from your face, the fact that I could touch you without worrying if you'd pull away broke my ability to control my reaction to you.

I want to make something clear, though by this time you've probably figured it out. From pretty much the moment I met you, I burned to be inside you. At first, I thought it was lust, combined with a desire to get you back for all the aggravation you'd caused me. But by the fourth or fifth case, I knew it was something more, though I tried to convince myself it was just misguided possessiveness, a normal male reaction stemming from my need to keep you safe. What it really was, and what I was avoiding admitting to myself, was that you were completely under my skin, and I needed to get under yours. Our working relationship was already better by that point, even with all the fighting, than any partnership I'd ever had, and I needed more. So really, what I was thinking the whole time I allowed myself those small touches was _IneedyouIneedyouIneedyouIneedyou_, pounding through my brain until there wasn't room for any other thought.

This, of course, scared the living hell out of me, like so many other things you do. Your fearlessness frightens me, but less so than your ability to carry forward to do fearless things though you're actually terrified. That? That makes me so terrified it's all I can do to keep up with you. It wasn't until Sully came along that I could admit to myself that what I'd really been thinking was _IneedyouIloveyouIneedyouIloveyou_, but by that time I thought I was too late, and you seemed happy. I couldn't be so selfish when he made you laugh, made you smile. When you stayed, I began to hope.

The only thing feeding my restraint all that time was a competing voice, that would follow my feeling of need—_you'llhurther she'stoogood youwon'tbeabletoprotecther_, not to mention _youcan'ttellher you'lltainther shewon'tunderstand._ Well, you've long since proven me wrong in that regard, first in your unquestioning assertion that I was worthy of your friendship, even after I told you some of the things that I've done, then in your complete dedication to helping me clear the stain of that list on my soul, and at last in the way you made it unnecessary for me to voice what I was feeling by saying it yourself, then letting me know it was okay. As I said earlier, I was a fool to doubt that you couldn't handle what I might tell you, but I still count myself blessed that you not only understand, but don't think I've done anything requiring forgiveness.

You've written here that you feel complete when we're together. And that's exactly it. I'm only whole when I'm with you, I only can let go with you, because you're the only person who knows and understands and loves all that I am. But a decade of self-doubt and disgust is hard to erase, and though you're drawing it out of me, day by day, an ounce of poison at a time, the only time I really forget is when I'm inside you, when you're calling my name, when I can satisfy you like no one else, when I can feel like you're mine, and like we belong to each other, and no one else in the world. Now, when we make love, the voice in my head says _MineIloveyouIneedyou MineThankyouGod MineIloveyouIneedyou_, on permanent repeat, like a mantra the Buddhists would chant in an attempt to reach their version of Heaven. Because when we've made love, I don't need any other Heaven, and in those moments when you cling to me, all is forgiven, and I feel like I've regained my innocence, the whole world full of possibility for goodness, not the senseless ugliness and intentional brutality we see every day. You literally make it possible for me to face the day.

I can't write the way you do—reading what you'd written about how I've made love to you, and you to me, took my breath away at the way you'd captured us, and made me thank God all over again that you get it, that you get me, that you understand and feel the same way. Call it Serendipity, call it Grace, call it Providence—but I have an endless need to show you how much I love you, what a gift you are, how your body and brains and heart and soul are sacred to me.

In many ways, the name Temperance suits you. You measure the world, and don't let your own passions and judgments control the way you deal with people, until you've satisfied your compulsion to know the truth of things, to allow the facts to fully develop before you make a decision and act on it. Sometimes that only takes a second for your brilliant brain to do, but with few exceptions, you always push yourself through that process, moderate your reactions, until you can _know_, be sure objectively.

The few times you've acted from passion, rather than purpose, you've been angry at yourself afterward. You shouldn't be. Every time you've acted from your gut, it wasn't because you were being irrational. Rather, you acted from an innate knowledge of some universal truth that didn't require further thought. Your passion for the truth is instinctual in those cases—but just because you don't catch yourself thinking about it doesn't make it wrong.

In other ways, though, your first name, Joy, better describes you. You find such joy in finding the truth, in bringing peace to the families we work for, in bringing satisfaction and comfort to the people you love that it astounds me. The joy in your smile when someone does something unexpected for you is breathtaking to see. If you ever wondered why I brought you Brainy and Jasper and doughnuts and takeout and gave you every compliment or other small token I hoped wouldn't scare you off, it was because I wanted to see that joy in your smile, to even for a moment relieve you from the sadness you carry for the problems you work so hard to fix. I want to bring you joy, and when you smile at me or sigh in utter contentment or sleep with peaceful abandon after we've made love, I know that I've been able to do that again. It drives me, as much as my need for the wholeness you give me drives me.

I know Delia said it was fine if we made love, but as fine a doctor as she is, the woman can't possibly understand my ferocious need for you, the way your response to me eclipses my restraint until I'm all want and desire and full of such a forceful need to show you I love you that each time, I think I'll explode, that my heart will stop and my lungs collapse.

So when you pulled me to you after I came back from dropping Parker at school, and twined your arms around my neck to kiss me, in the way I'm coming to know isn't just a kiss, but a prelude to our coming together again, I froze for a moment, afraid. "You won't hurt me," you told me, and kissed me again, your tongue seeking mine and your hands cradling my face, but I still needed more reassurance. "You won't hurt me," you repeated, making me look down at you, as you continued. "You never have, you never will."

You've been so pale, so thin, so clearly exhausted, that it was easy to check my desire with fear. I'd thought I'd been inseparable from you before, but since this most recent bout, I need to touch you all the time, to make sure you're still here. At the same time, I'm still recovering from the shock of it all, since I'd been doing a fairly good job before that point in suppressing the knowledge that this could all end, far too soon, and this brought it crashing into full reality with no choice but to nearly drown in it. To say this is hard would be the understatement of all time. So I've been content to just try to be in constant contact with you, our hips touching as we work together in the kitchen, or bathing together, or the way you curl up on my chest as we sleep, or our hands twining and my arm around you, your head resting in my lap or on my chest as we read or watch television. You seem to want it, too, and it's been so peaceful and calm ignoring the rest of the world that I almost think I could do nothing but this for the rest of our lives. I know that's not really true, of course—we both need to be out there, helping, but I hope there will be a day when we both feel like we've done enough, and we can rest the way we've been resting since you came home.

But when you told me I could never hurt you this time, it finally hit me that you really believed it. And because you believed it, I knew it was true, and that I could do what you believed.

Suffice it to say, I felt joy as your skin flushed when I kissed you, that I felt hunger satisfied as I tasted you, that I felt sheltered and whole and blessed as you held me with your arms and your legs and joined with me, a peace in its wake that I'll define as Grace, even if you're still hesitant to believe in something larger than us. That you believe in me is enough.

- - -

Seeley Michael Booth, I swear. If you keep writing things like that, I'm going to turn into some swooning romance novel heroine, and do nothing all day but sigh and weep from the depth of my love for you. But we have work to do, as you've said. So knock it off, and write a hot sex scene, for God's sake.

- - -

Sorry, Bones. I'm just a total sap when it comes to you. You're going to have to deal with it. Have I told you that your eyes are bluer and deeper than the ocean, and that they put the sky to shame?

--

Knock it off. I mean it.

- - -

Or that your smile is so brilliant that it makes the sunrise pale in comparison?

- - -

Sigh. Swoon.

- - -

Come here, woman, and I'll make you swoon.

- - -

Sully brought back your truck early in the morning of the fourth day I'd been home, and Cam had followed in his car to drive them to the lab, so I invited them in for breakfast. I'd already started coffee and made you some bacon, corn, cheddar and scallion muffins that were baking in the oven when they'd arrived, so I invited them in for breakfast while you were getting dressed. We'd already showered, but I wanted to start breakfast before I dressed, so I was padding around the kitchen in a pair of your FBI sweats, drowing in their warmth and your smell, when they arrived.

"Seeley? Cam and Sully are here! They're staying for breakfast!"

"Be right out!"

I poured them some coffee as I scrambled more eggs and grated more cheese, then started them in the frying pan. They looked even more comfortable together than the last time we'd seen them, and they were shooting each other looks when the other wasn't paying attention. I was so happy for them I almost felt like getting pushy like Angela, but I bit my tongue and just smiled. Sully was congratulating us on being chosen for the NCJA keynote address—it had just been announced, along with the rest of the agenda-- when you came out from the bedroom in jeans and a t-shirt—dressed up for us, this week, since we'd mostly stayed in.

You greeted them, clapping Sully on the back and giving Cam a peck on the cheek, as I set your coffee next to the stove and you finished the eggs. You'd moved to the side as I opened the oven to pull out the muffins, our hips still touching as I bent and then straightened to put them on top of the other burners, your fingers reaching to touch my back as I turned to get the butter from the fridge to serve with the muffins. I tipped the muffins onto a plate, as my hand strayed to your waist as you served out the eggs.

Cam and Sully were looking at us like we'd each grown an extra head, and I think we made them uncomfortable by the way we unconsciously strayed into contact all the time these days. So I sat next to Cam, and gave you the "_we'd better tamp it down a bit because they're getting freaked out look_," and you gave me the "_you're right but they'd better get used to it_" look, and stood next to Sully while eating your breakfast.

Sully was working on his third muffin, and Cam was rolling her eyes even as she reached for a second muffin, but I knew she appreciated my cooking, too, when she said, "Seriously, Grace. Anytime you want to open a catering company, I'm all over it with the backing money."

I laughed, and you helped yourself to a fourth muffin, saying "I know that Bones loves me because she cooks me things with bacon."

I had one of the three muffins I'd set aside for myself (they were good, Seeley, remind me to make these again), before I'd stirred the bacon into the rest of the mix, and rejoined, "The way to a man's heart is through pork products, apparently."

It had been fairly quiet at the lab, and Sully had actually been able to complete the stabbing case that we'd been working before I fell ill at the Henry Clifford scene. He and Cam took turns explaining how the team had finished narrowing the suspects, how Sully'd decided who the real suspect was, and how Clark had worked with Hodgins to re-create the particular knife edge used. They weren't quite to the point of finishing one another's sentences, but it was close. I was relieved to see that the team was working so well together, and could see you were too, since we both worried about our victims and the team's ability to work toward solutions without us—not that they weren't all wonderful, but sometimes it took the two of us to drive them forward to a conclusion. Sully had proven to be a wonderful complement, though, and I internally let go of my fear that our victims might have to go without.

I gave Sully and Cam the rest of the muffins to go, though you complained loudly. "Bones! Those are _my _bacon muffins! You can't go giving them to Moron and Shaky!"

"Can it, Booth. There's enough batter for a second batch in the fridge." You picked me up and twirled me, as I slapped at you. "Booth! Knock it off!"

Cam was shaking her head. "You guys are incredible. Sickening, but incredible."

Sully just smiled, and as I hugged him goodbye, he whispered "I'm making chocolate pudding tonight for dinner tomorrow at your place. Wish me luck." I smiled and mouthed "Good luck" as he looked back, one hand at Cam's elbow.

- - -

At my second follow-up that week, Delia was pleased with how I was doing, once she was able to start the examination—she had threatened to throw you out of the building when you insisted on coming into the examination room with me. "Seeley, I'll be fine," I assured him, and Delia added that she'd send the nurse out so you could meet us in her office when we were done. Everything was fine-- the incision in my palate was healing well, my vitals were steady, and my neurological tests were all normal. The only thing she was concerned with was my weight and a few blood levels. She asked me how you were handling this, observing that you looked better. I told her a bit about what had occurred between us, at the hospital and at home, and she sighed. "It's like the greatest love story of all time."

I laughed. "I hardly think we're your typical romance novel protagonists."

"That's precisely why it's so . . . lovely to observe."

When we were back in her office, you immediately pushed off the wall you'd been leaning against, to place your hand on my shoulder as I sat. Delia began. "Seeley, everything looks fine. I'm mostly concerned about Temperance's weight, and her iron levels. As you know, she lost five pounds when she was in the hospital the first time, and she's lost another twelve this last time. Temperance, I can't stress it enough that you need to put that weight back on as soon as possible; it's an important buffer for your immune system, and you're going to need that. For now, I'm going to just give you a sheet with a list of higher-fat foods you should be adding to your diet. I want to see you this time next week, and by that time I want you to try to put on two or three pounds. The other thing I'm worried about is your iron levels. They're way out of kilter, and I want you to add some red meat to your diet."

I protested. "I try to eat vegetarian, though I will have a little chicken or sushi every once in a while. I'm really not that fond of meat, anyway. Can't I just increase the amount of greens and sardines I eat? Maybe more beets?"

She shook her head. "Those things are all good, and if you didn't need to replenish your iron levels quickly, I would say that's sufficient. But red meat is really the most efficient way to provide the body with iron; mineral supplements just don't absorb so well or so quickly. I'd like you to have at least one six ounce serving every day, and we'll check your levels again next week."

I frowned, but you poked my shoulder and sighed. "Bones, only you would complain about a doctor telling you to eat steak and eggs, cheese, meat, and ice cream."

"Butter and cream, too," added Delia. "Lots of desserts."

"I'm just not hungry when I'm tired, though."

You nodded. "It's true. Bones was never a heavy eater to begin with, and she always forgets to eat when she's working. I can't tell you how many times I've dragged her out of the lab after 7 o'clock only to find she'd missed lunch."

Delia frowned. "Well, you're going to have to be better about it. I don't want to prescribe anything to increase your appetite if I can avoid it, so you're going to have to just be more diligent about having larger portions and snacking throughout the day, even if you don't feel hungry. How much coffee do you drink?"

I paused. Not as much, while I was at home, and I'd been drinking more tea. "At work, six or seven cups a day. Recently, only three or four, plus some tea."

"More like four or five," you interjected. "Not every day, but at least three times a week."

Delia responded. "Well, coffee's an appetite suppressant, and tea, too, to a lesser extent, so I'd like you to switch to herbal teas and only one cup of caffeinated coffee a day."

I grumbled, and you ruffled my hair, saying "Bones is going to be so cranky in the mornings," before Delia shot you a look.

"You know you're not exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed yet yourself. You could do with a little less caffeine and a little more sleep. Or do you want me to call the Bureau? Don't think I don't know some of the doctors over there. I'll have you in there so fast to be invalided out for another three weeks that you won't know what hit you."

I was glad she'd said it. You were looking better, but you were still stressed, and had insisted on taking care of all the housework, what little there was, since we'd come home. The most you'd let me do was a little cooking and clearing the dishes. I was worried about you; I knew we both were a little better, emotionally, with what might lie ahead, but you were still pushing yourself physically, and hadn't yet caught up on the sleep you hadn't had while you'd been waiting for me to wake up. You grumbled a little, so I patted your hand and smiled at you. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander."

We set up an appointment for next week, the plan being that I would start chemotherapy the week afterward, at the same schedule we'd arranged before.

- - -

As we were driving back, you stopped at the organic grocery store. "C'mon, Bones. Let's get some ridiculously overpriced steaks and hamburgers from a cow whose name we know, who ate better than most children in the third world, and who was massaged with cocoa butter and serenaded with Mozart every day until it became dinner."

"You're impossible."

"Yeah, but I'm yours."

We tooled up and down the aisles, and I found myself having fun. I usually ordered my groceries online for delivery, and you had too, since I'd moved in, so most of my grocery shopping had been in convenience stores to pick up one or two things. You were pulling items off shelves and reading the "organic" and "naturally processed" labels with a pretentious tone and a twinkle in your eye, but when we hit the candy and cookie aisle, you started filling the cart with more junk food than I'd eaten in the last year combined.

"Booth! I'm not going to eat all those cookies! Put them back!"

"Who said they're for you? Maybe they're for Parker!"

"Really? Parker likes triple ginger cookies dipped in dark chocolate? And hazelnut cream-filled wafers? Because I happen to remember that your cookie supply is pretty much limited to Oreos and Chips Ahoy."

You rolled your eyes at me. "C'mon Bones, Delia said you have to be a total pig from now on, I'm just trying to help."

I relented. "If you really want to help, grab me two of those marshmallow caramel shortbread thingies."

You snorted. "Thingies, Bones? Nice. Very precise scientific language, Dr. Brennan."

At the meat counter, you ordered way too much meat and I complained as we waited for the butcher to finish wrapping our order. "Booth, that's a truly disgusting amount of animal flesh." You looked wounded.

"Bones—it's only eight ounces a day for you, and some hamburger, and a few steaks for me. It's not like you have to eat it three times a day, for Christ's sake. I know you don't like meat, but you are going to do what Delia says."

"I'm going to go look at the dairy section."

I knew why I was feeling so petulant; while I took seriously the possibility that I might not make it, I had nonetheless unreasonably assumed that I would continue to be my normal, healthy self throughout treatment, and that while I might have some side effects once I began chemotherapy, that they would not be too affecting. I have always taken good care of myself, your cracks about rabbit food notwithstanding, and am rarely ill, even with minor colds or flus, so the fact that I was having trouble maintaining my weight and my energy level was bothering me. I had picked out some goat cheese and cheddar, and was discussing the triple-cream cheeses with the young woman cheesemonger, when you caught up with me.

"Triple cream? Sounds fattening. We'll take two," you said, flashing your Charm Smile at the girl. She blushed as she started explaining to me the fat content of everything in the case, convincing me to buy some Spanish and Basque cheeses I'd never tried as well as some special almonds and fruit paste that were supposed to be good with them. Looking at the grocery cart, I sighed as I saw how full it was, and we still had another third of the market to finish. Catching my sigh, you came around the cart and pulled me into a hug. "Poor Bones," you murmured, then pulled back to kiss my forehead. "You want to go home? I can finish up later."

"No," I responded, "I'm just feeling whiny. Let's finish up."

Our cart was nearly overflowing with bread and pastries and other things you'd found, but you also tossed in some of the teriyaki baked tofu I liked to snack on when I thought of it, and some lovely salad greens and vegetables. We checked out and got back in your truck, the back nearly overflowing with groceries. When we got home, you actually let me carry two whole bags in to start putting away before going back to the car for the rest. I snorted as I started putting things away. At least this was your version of trying to be a little less protective.

I called Angela at work while you made lunch, complaining to her about all the food we'd bought and the change in my diet, while you heated the meat lasagna you'd bought at the prepared foods counter, and set out a fennel and olive salad you'd bought as my token vegetables. I merely rolled my eyes at you when you set down a bowl of three scoops of caramel swirl ice cream in front of me, topped with some crumbled marshmallow caramel thingies we'd just bought. I finished, and decided. Grumbling, I picked up the phone.

"If I have to get fat, everyone does." You laughed as you heard the conversation that followed, and flopped onto the sofa, pulling me up against you as you sat against the seatback and I finished my conversation.

"You, Temperance Brennan, are going to get a reputation as a big old sweetheart," you threatened.

"I'm just softening them up before I go back to work, and make them actually hustle a bit." You laughed again, then pulled out the remote.

"More MacGyver? Or Moonlighting?"

"MacGyver. It's truly amazing, the level of inventiveness the character displays in extricating himself from perilous scenarios, using only household objects, and even more so when you consider that the methods he employs are actually plausible to a quick-thinking individual."

"I thought you just thought Richard Dean Anderson was cute."

"That, too."

- - -

We'd fallen asleep when I heard the doorbell, then a key in the lock. We both struggled up from the sofa to see Jack and Angela come in, grinning. We'd exchanged keys back when I got home from the hospital, but this was the first time they'd used it. It was dark, and I guessed we'd been asleep for an hour or two after watching another three episodes of that show.

"Aww, Jack, we woke the kids from their nap."

"Well, maybe they're not hungry for Thai Food and beer, then."

You smiled, scooting up against the arm of the sofa and pulling me back against you. "I'm always hungry for Thai Food. And beer? Well, I'm hurt you don't know me after all this time."

Ange came over and dropped a kiss on my head, then Booth's. "Hello, sweeties. Bren, I have to tell you, the lab went _wild_ when your present arrived this afternoon."

"They liked it?"

"Bren! An ice cream sundae party for the whole Jeffersonian? As soon as word got around the building, there were people I'd never even _met_ before swarming the platform to eat all the stuff you'd sent over. Good thing we weren't busy, because no one in the whole building got any work done—everyone kept coming back for more, and even Cam was totally hogging that chocolate raspberry ripple."

Jack laughed. "Yeah, she and Sully went back to her office to 'share' a whole quart of it."

You laughed. "They were here for breakfast, and they are looking veeeery comfortable together these days."

I smiled. "I gave Sully that pudding recipe Cam was so wild about. He's having her over for dinner at my place tonight. I'm thinking they're about to get more comfortable, still."

Angela smirked, and shot me a grin. "Temperance Brennan, you little matchmaker, you."

The phone rang, then, and you got up to get it. I motioned Jack and Angela to put the Thai on the coffee table, and went over to the kitchen to pull out some plates and forks, brushing my hand across your back as you spoke on the phone.

"Sam, hi. Oh? It was all Temperance. I'm glad they liked it. Yeah, well, it's Friday afternoon, they weren't going to get any work done anyway. Don't pretend like I haven't seen you playing Minesweeper at 3:45, either. Well, I'll tell her. Have a good weekend."

You picked up the plates I'd pulled out and steered me back to the sofa. "Sam called to complain that the entire Hoover Building vacated their posts to swarm the cafeteria for ice cream this afternoon. And also, to complain that there wasn't enough Rocky Road. He said you'll make employee of the year for sure, now."

"What were you kids watching?" asked Jack, going over to the DVD player.

"MacGyver," you chuckled. "Bones is leaving me for Richard Dean Anderson."

"You guys in the mood for a movie?"

"After dinner?"

"Sure," said Jack, unpacking the food.

After I made inroads on some Spicy Beef with Thai Basil and some Tom Yum Soup with chicken, you let me have some of the deep-fried tofu that they'd also brought. I stopped at one beer, until you teased me into drinking another. "Liquid bread, Bones, gotta suck down those calories." We talked some more about the remaining things to be settled for the wedding, and made plans for the following weekend—there was, in fact, an apple picking place in Virginia with a haunted hayride, and we decided the four of us would take Parker, who'd been asking after "Auntie Angela and Uncle Jack," after his soccer game Sunday.

"What do you want to watch?" I asked Jack, as you and Angela carried plates to the kitchen, and you started a pot of coffee. "I don't really have a preference," I continued.

Jack smiled, went over to the cabinet, saying, "Well, when I was perusing your collection a week or so ago, I came across an old favorite. I never pegged Booth for a chick-flick watcher, but hey, what do I know?" He held up a DVD over his shoulder, and you laughed as you saw what it was.

"Jack, that's not a chick flick. What's it the grandfather says? '_Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles_...' It's the story of my life, except for the ROUSes."

I smirked. "I don't know if it's a completely accurate account, there aren't any clowns in it for the hero to vanquish."

"Hey! Enough with the clowns!"

Angela pushed you back into the living room, and you sat down beside me on the couch as Jack joined us. I snuggled up against you as the credits started, then groaned as Angela came back to the table with a plate full of cookies, and settled in next to Jack. "I'm so full!!"

"What, Bren, no cookies? Maybe I should make you a nice M.L.T."

Jack broke out laughing, and quipped, "_Ooh, I love that, when the mutton is nice and lean, and the tomato is ripe_…"

"_They're so perky, I love that_," I finished. "No, I'll choke down some cookies in a bit."

I enjoyed the movie all over again, arguing with Jack and Angela about which was the best part. We were all giggling like idiots at the marriage scene where the prince is hastening the priest along, quoting "Wuv, twue wuv" along with the movie. You pulled my head into your lap as I curled on my side, watching the movie as you petted my hair and kept shoving cookies at me every twenty minutes. But I guess that's what true love is, right? More cookies than you could possibly eat in a lifetime?


	28. Chapter 28

28

28.

You surprised the hell out of me as we were seeing Jack and Angela out for the night. Jack and I had done the family thing when he turned to you and pulled what looked like a ticket envelope out of his pocket, presenting it with a flourish. "Milady," he said, "I have succeeded in my quest and now present you with the fruit of my labors." You laughed and took the envelope, and gave him a hug and your thanks before shoving them out the door. Locking it behind you (good girl, Temperance, safety first), you turned and smiled.

"What was that?" I asked.

"A little something for you. Here," you said, handing me the envelope. Opening it, my mouth fell open.

"Fifty-yard line tickets for the Ravens game tomorrow! Bones! This is their first real match-up of the season!"

"I know," you said, smiling. "I took the liberty of emailing Steven to see if he wanted to go with you, since you had to cancel your dinner with him when he was here in town. I'll drive up with you and drop you two off at the stadium before I check out the National Aquarium, and you can call me when the game's over and pick you up for dinner. Does that sound okay?"

Oh, Bones. It sounds more than just okay. I'd really wanted to see Steven in particular before you'd gotten sick again, but it was out of the question with what had happened, and he'd been more than understanding when I'd called him to cancel. I'd been meaning to call him since we got home, but I kept pushing it off for no good reason. Of all of those guys, we'd been the closest, before, and it was the hardest, after, as we both tried to deal with what happened. You were so good, pushing me, gently, to reconnect with those friends who had meant a lot to me, meant a lot to me still, despite the distance I'd let spring up, because I wasn't yet ready to deal with all the things that happened.

"It's more than okay," I said, and pulled you in for a kiss before I showed you just how "more than okay" it really was.

- - -

We left not too long after nine that morning, since the game started at one, and it was an hour drive plus time to pick up Steven and get our seats at the stadium. We picked up breakfast on the way, though you complained about the fat and sodium content in your ham, egg and cheese sandwich as you ate. Whatever, Bones. As long as you eat, I don't care how much you complain.

We'd fallen into one of our comfortable silences again. I like that you don't need to talk all the time to fill the quiet—I mean, I always enjoying talking with you, or arguing, as the case may be, but you didn't feel the need to talk every minute, and you'd become a master at just giving me one of our mind-reader looks sometimes, when neither one of us wanted to say anything to spoil the moment, but wanted the other to know it was alright. I know it annoys people when we do that, but like Sweets said, we complement each other. Well enough that our minds usually run on parallel tracks, these days.

Sully was actually ragging me in the car the last time we'd gone out about how it was impossible for the rest of them to follow our conversations anymore, and it sank in that we really were talking to each other a lot more in our heads and our eyes than with our mouths anymore. I wasn't quite sure how to respond, but Clark spoke up from the back seat and said, "Ah, Moron, you're just jealous you and Cam aren't quite to the level of Dropout and T." Bones, I love that kid, and not just because he effectively deflected the conversation as Sully began to protest (methinks a little too much) that he and Cam were "just colleagues."

I saw my opening. "Just colleagues, huh? Think I've heard that before." Sully laughed and gave up.

But anyway—we were driving, and your hand was resting on my arm on the armrest, and I was thinking about how much I love you and how glad I was to be going to see Steven and all the knot of stuff that surrounds my thinking about him came untied, slowly, the way you carefully untie the ribbons on any presents you're given. You did that, Bones. So I started to tell you, and as you replied with "what then's" and "oh, Booth's" and a hand squeeze or two, it got easier and easier to get the whole story out. I'd never told the whole story to anyone. We'd all had to be debriefed, after, but military debriefings are just a factual recounting—not a discussion of how terrifying or painful it was—and the military shrinks aren't interested in hearing about your feelings. Their only real job is to decide if you can tamp it down enough not to crack if they send you back out there. And then I finished, and you pulled my hand over and kissed it, and said "It really wasn't your fault, any of you, and what happened after? Neither was that. Thank you for telling me."

Okay, see, Bones, that's where you go ripping my heart out and putting it back in so it feels a thousand times better again. "Thank you?" I'm the one who should be grateful, is grateful. You gave me my friend back.

You gave me my friend back. You called when we hit the city limits to confirm the directions to his house, and we found it without too much trouble. He was sitting outside on his stoop, like he couldn't even wait inside for us to ring the doorbell, and suddenly I couldn't wait either, and I threw the car into park and flew out of the car. He met me almost halfway (only you always meet me all of the way) and he was bawling and I was bawling and we were pounding each other's backs and you were smiling like an angel.

After probably ten minutes of that, you interrupted us, softly, and said "You two are going to miss the game if we don't get going." Which was true, although at that point I could have cared less about the game. So I introduced you to Steven, and felt a little bit of alpha-male pride as his jaw dropped, taking in how gorgeous you are. But he's a gentleman (some of the other guys are a little rough around the edges, I hope they're not too fresh when they meet you), and it was nice to meet you, and thanks so much for organizing this, and we were in the car and I let you drive (see, how much I love you?) as he and I immediately started catching up on our jobs and our lives and we were at the stadium before I knew it. You shut the car off and got out as we did, coming around to hug us both goodbye and wish us fun "watching your testosterone-laden war games."

Bones, you're so cute when you're squinty, and I was so happy that I pulled you into my arms for one of those perfect kisses, until I realized we were probably making Steven uncomfortable, so I broke it off. But you looked up at me and patted my cheek, saying "I love you too," and got back in the car, waving and calling "_have fun storming the castle_!" as you drove off.

When I turned back to Steven, his mouth was agape, and he just shook his head and said, "Wow."

"You don't even know the half of it."

- - -

The game was great, really, but we missed a couple of plays because we were talking, trading more stories and me talking a lot about you. We'd gone to get beers and hot dogs right before halftime, and made it back to our seats as the halftime show was beginning.

Ignoring the cheerleaders who can't hold a candle to you anyway, he turned to me, and asked, "Did you tell her?"

"I did."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"And what did she say?"

"She said it wasn't our fault, any of it. And . . . I believe her." And then I explained why I believed you, and by the time halftime was over, I think he believed you, too.

- - -

The rest of the game was great, the score totally even and the outcome uncertain down to the last few minutes. I won't bore you with the details, because I know you could really care less. But the best part of it all was how by the end of the game, it was like all those years hadn't passed, and we were friends in the way we'd been before everything had gone straight to Hell. I called you with ten minutes left on the clock, and you said you were on the way to the stadium and would wait down the street at the pizza place.

You were there when we got out, just as you said (of course, you always do what you say, just ask Parker), and got out to hand me the keys. Steven suggested we head to the seaport to some crab shack for dinner, and you didn't even make a face or make some crack about dismembering crustaceans in some primeval eating ritual. You went to sit in the back seat, motioning him to sit up front with me, but he knows what the deal is, and said, "No way. Temperance, you'll never take a backseat to any of us."

Dinner was great; you told us about the things you'd seen at the aquarium, and he'd asked about new exhibits because he was in charge of planning some field trips for his school this fall. We talked about his students, and some of our cases, and you methodically ate your cheeseburger and fries as we ripped apart two buckets of crabs and some of the best onion rings I've had in a long time. You were giving me your "_I'm too full to eat anything more but I'll have a milkshake on the way home_" look, so I didn't push you while the two of us had dessert and coffee, you sipping your decaf with a light in your eyes, even as you made a face when you ordered it. Yeah, decaf sucks, but I'm glad you're doing what Delia says.

It was still pretty early when we dropped Steven off. He invited us to stay overnight, and you said, "We really would love to, but we've got Mass and Parker's soccer game first thing tomorrow. Tell you what, though—we've been thinking about having a barbecue next Saturday at our place, and we'd love if you came down and stayed with us Friday night and helped us set up." Now, I knew we hadn't planned any such thing, but Jared was going to be in town again and Russ and Amy were also going to be up with Hallie, so it was as good an excuse as any, and my heart swelled with even more love for you than I'd had ten minutes before-- which was a lot to begin with. So Steven gladly accepted, and we planned to pick him up at the train station at the end of the day on Friday. I hugged my buddy goodbye, and he hugged you goodbye, and said "Thank you."

I'll say it again. Thank you.

- - -

I'd been thinking about what I'd read in your State file as I was mulling over my own stuff before we'd seen my friend that day, but I hadn't asked you about it yet, mostly because I was still surprised and shocked by so much of what I'd read. It was so strange to me—you're a horrible liar, most of the time, but you'd kept those secrets all this time. Of course, you'd kept my secrets all this time, too, so I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was, but you know I go more than a little nuts if you're in any kind of danger, so your throwing yourself into the midst of all of that was still hard for me to think about on a couple of levels.

"Did he give you a hard time when you resigned?" I asked, deciding to tackle the subject head on, though old habits die hard about naming them, and I just called him 'he,' knowing you'd know who I meant.

You shot me a glance, then responded. "No, he didn't. He said he was sad to lose me, but he wouldn't try to persuade me to stay."

"Why did you resign?"

"I didn't have anything to lose, before, so there was no reason not to continue. You resigned after Parker was born, and I have you and Parker now. Same reason."

"Bones, why did you . . . help in the first place?"

"For the same reasons you continued even after you were done with the Rangers. It was necessary."

"But you didn't . . ."

"No. I don't have that training, you know that. I did actually identify remains, but I also used my anthropological and cultural training to get to know the local populations, gain their trust, and . . . get information."

"Bones. That was some scary shit, those places."

You sighed, and your eyes were sad as you thought back. "Yes, it was some scary shit, as you say. But there wasn't really anyone else in those places who could go in like I could with a decent excuse for being there, and find out what was needed for them to . . . select targets. It's entirely likely that you… although I never read your . . ."

"There were three, overlapping, before I resigned."

"I'm sorry, Seeley. What I did wasn't the hard part, compared… " Your sad gaze shifted far off again, and I took your hand.

"Bones, I beg to differ. I never paid attention to where the . . . information came from, I just took my dossier and set up my stakeout. I never walked around, talked to the people, had to deal with what they'd been through face to face. That takes heart, and way more than a steady trigger finger." You were quiet, so I decided to press, a little. "Do you think about it?"

You turned to me, saying "Of course. I feel . . . sad for the . . . targets' . . . families, after, but it doesn't hurt me the same way it hurts you. I'd learned expedience early on, you know, and I really believe the balance sometimes lies on the needs of the many against the harm to the one or the few. And after meeting the many, hearing what happened to them? It bothers me even less. Sometimes you can't get justice—it's impossible to find, or no one will help you, or there just isn't time. You can only eliminate the threat. And . . . I was more comfortable with helping to eliminate the threat than not doing anything at all. It's less important to me that I be comfortable with the decisions I've made, than to know that the outcome of those decisions was the right one, in the larger scope of things. I don't believe in sin, the way you do, though if I did I'd agree it's a sin to kill anyone. But even your God has warriors, and He expects them to kill to protect the larger community. It's a necessary thing, and He doesn't begrudge them their deeds in His service. I think the larger sin is to not do anything at all, to waste the talents we're given. Eliminating the threat is better than doing nothing." Then you added, quietly, "I still have my own list, though."

I remembered what you said, after we buried Cleo Eller. "I'd like to help you with that." I paused and thought some more, then said, "But you know, work shared is work halved, so let's count all the ones so far against both our lists, alright? Because neither of us could have done it without each other."

Temperance. Of course, you were right, and for the second time that day you'd ripped my heart out and healed it a little more. I'd taken my saint's name to heart through my work, our work, but I'd never thought about it in terms of divine sanction before. You'd accused me of taking it too seriously, before, and of not allowing myself human failings, but you were right—even God needed help eliminating the threat.

You smiled as I said that, and squeezed the hand I'd been holding. "Work shared. That's right."

You'd fallen asleep by the time we got home, a peaceful smile on your face. I always debate whether to wake you up or carry you in. Of course, before we'd gotten together, I always erred on the side of waking you up, because I knew you'd kick my ass unless you were really hurting. Since then, you'd been remarkably patient of my need to carry you around and hold you in my arms all the time. So I indulged myself, and lifted you out of the car, carrying you up the walk to our home. You shifted a bit as I mounted the stairs, murmuring "home?"

"Mmm-hmm. Hold on while I get the door?" You twined your arms around my neck and snugged your head against my chest so sweetly, as I juggled you a bit to get the door open and turned the light to stick my head in on before going inside. You've noticed how I always check out the room before fully entering, and maybe you think it's a little ridiculous, but I've known other agents who've been attacked in their homes, and I've been attacked in too many supposedly secure encampments not to be more than just cautious.

Everything was fine, though, so I closed and locked the door behind us before settling you on the bed. You sighed and curled on your side, as I undressed and stored my weapons. I shrugged and worked out the few knots in my neck from the long drive, then bent to touch my toes and shake the kink out of my back where my holster sits.

I hate carrying my guns, and you know it too, though we both joke and make light of it. But as much as I hate carrying it, as much as I hate using it, what you said about not wasting the talents we've been given is right. Though I mourn every instance when I hit what I aim at, I _always_ hit what I aim at, once I've sighted the target. If I wasn't ready to use that talent, if it could even be called that, if the situation required it? You're right, it would be the biggest sin of all. So I holster my talent and burden, every day, each time we go out in the world, even to Mass, praying each time as I lock the door to the house that I'll get through another day without needing to use it. Maybe by the time we're done with our list, someone else with a sure heart, a keen eye and steady trigger finger will come along, and I can put my guns away.

I shook off those heavy thoughts then, as I looked down at you, sleeping, and pulled the clothes off your unresisting, beautiful body. Pulling you against me, your breathing soft over my heart, I thanked God again for the blessing you are. As I fell asleep, though, a thought came to me that I knew I should remember in the morning. You always write about my shorts and socks, but I'd gotten dressed before you were out of the shower, and now you're asleep, so I'll complete the day's account with the following: smiley-face boxer shorts and yellow and red polka-dot socks.

- - -

The next day I woke early, and headed to the kitchen to bake the rest of that corn muffin batter. While I was waiting and the coffee was brewing, I checked my email and sent Daniel Goodman my thoughts on his revised lesson plans. I hoped I'd be able to do some team teaching, soon. Then, I checked to see if you'd updated what was now our project.

You had. You know, you always act like you're just the brawn or the guts, but it's simply not true. You write beautifully—really. And, you're welcome, but it was only what you would have done for me. Partners, right?

The timer went off on the oven, and as I pulled the muffins out and set them to cool, you wandered in, rubbing your head and mumbling "bacon muffins."

"Yes, bacon muffins. Eat up, we need to get going if we're going to shower, get ready, and pick up Parker for Mass."

You wrapped your arms around my waist. "Bacon muffins, Parker, and Mass. You're too good to me, Bones."

"I am," I teased, then poured us some coffee. You dumped the muffins onto a plate and brought them over to the island, sitting next to me. I hooked my ankle around yours as you split two muffins and put on more butter than I'd eat in a whole day, then shoved the plate in front of me, a look of challenge in your eye. Fine. But I gave you my "_when all this is over you are eating nothing but raw vegetables and soy milk for weeks_" look, and you laughed.

"All the rabbit food you want, Bones."

I slogged my way through the entire District's R.D.A. of cholesterol as we drank our coffee, and unthinkingly got up to refill my mug for a second cup.

"Have some milk, instead."

"I hate milk."

"You're whining like Parker. I bought some coffee syrup, no caffeine, all delicious corn syrup and artificial flavors. Put some of that in it."

"Where is it?" I started opening cabinets. You got up and reached up to the top shelf to pull it down.

"I'll make it. You finish another muffin."

I did manage to choke down another half of a muffin by the time you came back and handed me a tall glass. Taking a cautious sip, I let it sit in my mouth. Hmm. Not bad. I took another sip. Actually, it was really not bad. A third sip decided me—it was almost as good as ice cream.

"Fine, you win this round, Booth, just don't get used to it."

I finished my glass, then stared at the remaining half muffin forlornly. I really was full.

You took pity on me then, and pulled me up for a hug. "Poor Bones. Come on, let's go shower."

- - -

I have to say, if this crime-fighting thing ever gets boring for you, you could make millions just offering to wash women's hair for them—those hands... But on second thought—that's an awful lot of women I'd have to shoot. I guess your alpha-maleness is starting to rub off on me. Maybe I should just pee on your leg and get it over with.

- - -

I find it interesting that our first real fight and the whole next sequence of events occurred over religion, but not because I didn't believe—rather, it all started because I'd actually admitted to Parker that I do sometimes throw thoughts out to the universe, even if I wouldn't call it praying. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We settled into the pew at Mass, Parker sitting between us, and he was in very high spirits. He kept leaning over to me to stage whisper about the different parts of the service, but he _is_ five-- his stage whisper was louder than some of the congregants' regular speaking voices. I tried just telling him "Later," but he persisted, and you shushed him several times with an increasingly frustrated look on your face. Finally, I leant in and said, "Parker, let's come back later and you can show me everything then." He nodded solemnly, then, and subsided for the rest of the service. You, however, remained stiff, and kept shooting him looks.

On the way out, the priest squatted to speak to Parker, and asked "What had you so excited to show Temperance today?"

Parker, a grave look on his face, answered. "I asked God to make Bones better, and He did, so I wanted to show her His house, because she said when she talks to God she does it outside."

The priest shot me a smile before directing his attention back to Parker. "Well, there are lots of places where people can talk to God, it can be outside, too."

I interjected. "I told Parker we'd come back later, when he can show me everything without interrupting the service."

Parker looked up then, and realizing, said "Oh! I'm sorry!" so I leant down and responded.

"It's always nice when someone wants to share something they love. Sometimes, you just have to do it a little more quietly, okay?" He nodded, and smiled, and we shook the priest's hand and left.

You were quiet as we stopped at home to wrestle Parker into his uniform, and again on the way to the field. It wasn't until he'd run across the field, full of grazing Canada Geese, and met up with his team, to start what passed for drills before the game started, that you spoke directly to me, as we stood on the sidelines, waiting for the game to begin.

"Why did you tell him you talk to God when you're an atheist?"

Oh, no you don't. Okay, I know what's going on here. You think I lied, or I'm humoring him, or mocking your religion or something. You judgmental bastard. However, I didn't say any of this, and instead offered you the actual explanation.

"He asked me when we were at the hospital what I prayed about when we're in church, so I told him I didn't, not really—but that when I want to think about big things like missing my mother, or why some people are good and others are bad, I like to do it when I'm by myself, sitting under a tree or watching the stars. He wanted to know why, and I told him I was more comfortable thinking big thoughts in a really big place, like under the sky. He asked me if I didn't think it would be easier to be heard inside a church, and I told him that I'd rather blow my wishes out into the sky, like blowing on a dandelion and not knowing where all the seeds go. That just because I didn't know where the wish might end up didn't mean I didn't make wishes at all."

You didn't say anything, and didn't meet my eyes, either.

"You think I lied to him."

You hesitated, and looked askance at me before looking away. Oh, that's it.

"Answer me."

This time, my tone caught your attention. Leaning in, my hand on your arm, I took what I hoped would look like a friendly posture to anyone else, and dug my fingers into your arm until you flinched, then lowered my voice. "How _dare_ you think I would ever lie to, or humor, or God forbid, _mock_ something as important as this is to you and your child. To any child, but especially yours. You automatically assumed that I was lying to him, rather than give me the benefit of the doubt in trying to keep my word to let him grow up to make his own choices, and yet still tell the truth. _I don't lie_, Booth. Not to you, not to your child, not to anyone. If I can't tell the truth, I keep my mouth shut. And I don't _ever_ judge someone because they believe differently then I do."

The muscle on your jaw was clenching, and you spit back, fortunately in a low tone that others would hopefully think was normal conversation, "Bones, you argue with me about religion all the time. What am I supposed to think?"

Oooh. If we weren't at a children's soccer game, I would punch you even harder than at your stupid fake funeral. "I would expect you to _think_, if that's what you call the way you're behaving right now, that I can tell the difference between a real discussion with an adult capable of thinking for themselves, and protecting the innocence of a child who happens to believe something my own experience has led me to believe probably isn't real. I would also expect you to at least put off your self-righteous judgment until you actually asked Parker about my conversation with him."

"He's a _child_, Bones."

"He's also apparently a hell of a lot more mature and intelligent than you, right now. As you would know if you'd just talk to him."

You still clearly didn't believe me. This was not going well. You have such a knee-jerk reaction when it comes to some things, and Parker and religion are two of them.

"Let's back off for a second. Have I ever, _ever_, contradicted anything you've said to Parker? Have I ever told him anything but the truth? Have I ever done anything but keep my mouth shut while you lecture him about a supposedly omniscient and omnipotent God who nonetheless can't be bothered to care directly for the innocents in the world, who lets His children kill one another for no reason, who lets His flock be eaten by wolves? Because I'll tell you something. Booth. Your God is a criminally negligent parent, if He even exists. Simply because I reject that God, Booth, and choose instead to believe that each of us is capable of finding our own truth and achieving our own goodness, doesn't mean I can't accept your choice to educate Parker about those ethics in the context of Church dogma. But you're a hypocritical prick if you condemn me for not believing exactly the way you do. Your Christ didn't distinguish among any of His children. Who the hell do you think _you_ are, that you have the right to judge me?"

Parker's running footsteps came over at that lovely juncture, me glaring at you and confusion shifting across your face. "Bones! Daddy! I get to kick the ball first!"

I squatted down, and pasted on a smile. "Parker, that's great, how come?"

"Because I scored three goals the last time!"

I replied, "I know you did, do you think you can do it again?" and he nodded, his head practically bobbing off his head, he was nodding so hard. You were still standing there, your jaw still ticking, when you picked up Parker and said, "Hey buddy, that's great! You're going to do a great job today."

When you put him back down, Parker looked back at me, still squatting at his level, and bent to pick something. It was a dandelion, gone to seed. "Dr. Bones, will you make a wish with me?"

I felt you start next to me, and I ignored you as I said, "Sure. One, two, three, blow!" Parker scrunched his eyes up and blew like a cartoon character, spraying spit all over the dandelion, and I added my own breath, to make the seeds scatter, and wished, _all's well that ends well_, _whatever the end might be_. He opened his eyes, and smiled at me, saying "Who knows where it might end up, right?"

"Right. Now, looks like they're getting ready to start—you go back now, and good luck!"

He scampered off, and I stood, and turned to face you. "_I_ am going to get something to eat. Do _not_ follow me. And when I come back, do _not_ speak to me until you are spoken to."

I turned my back on you then, and did my best to walk slowly and steadily away, rather than either turn and punch you, or run back to the car to cry because I couldn't believe you doubted my truthfulness to your child. I could forgive your sanctimonious attitude about my lack of belief, but you know better, you've said it yourself, you conveniently forgetful son of a bitch, when it comes to how I deal with children, and why I always tell them the truth, why I _never_ promise anything I'm not going to do my utmost to deliver. When I reached the ice cream truck at the edge of the field, I'd cooled down a little, but not enough—my blood was pounding in my ears.

"Diet ginger ale and a slice of pepperoni pizza, please."

I took my order aside, and looked back for the first time since I'd walked away from you. You kept looking back at me, then over at the huddle Parker's team was making as the game was about to begin, and then back at me. Even twenty five yards away, I could feel the confusion radiating from you, but I was still furious that it was taking you this long to admit you were wrong. Sighing, I leaned against the tree under which the ice cream truck was parked, and stuck the soda in my purse as I started to nibble my pizza. Stupid calorie intake. Stupid man. Stupid bullshit sanctimonious prig. Stupid pepperoni. I really hate pepperoni, do you know that, you stupid judgmental aggravating man who I love anyway, even though one of these days I'm going to clock you again, and you'll be damned lucky if it's not on our wedding day, in your stupid church that I'm getting married in just to make you happy? Rrrrgh.

Wow, that pizza was really disgusting. I took out the ginger ale and took a swig. Uck. That didn't taste so good, either. Oh. Shit. Please don't let that be what I think that was that just dripped, salty, down my throat. I raised my hand to my nose, and shitfuckshitfuckshitshit it came away bloody, and damnit, I really don't want this to happen at Parker's soccer game. Really, really didn't want this to happen here. _Please, whoever_, I thought, as my legs went out under me and I sat with a hard thump at the base of the tree, _I really, really, don't want to hemorrhage out in front of a soccer field full of five year olds, including a boy and his father I'd promised I'd stay put for, so please, can this at least wait until after I go to sleep tonight and don't have to see their faces when I can't keep my promise? Please? Could I maybe get through, say, three whole weeks without some major medical event? Please_?

Feet pounded over. "Bones!" Your hand grabbed my chin, forced my face up. "No, not again, Bones, don't do this." Napkins pressing on my nose, my head tipped back until I coughed and spat out the blood running down the back of my throat into the napkins wadded in your hand, and I was pulled forward, head between my knees, as I coughed some more. Definitely, too much blood, and my vision was graying. _Okay, look, I am really, really asking here, whatever you are, can this please not happen right now_? "Come on, Bones, come on!" _Please, come on, I do not want to die from a hemorrhaging nosebleed after a stupid fight with Booth, because he will literally kill himself with guilt thinking it's all his fault, even though at least I got to tell him I loved him this time, and I especially do not want to die in front of his son, who will not only then have to deal with my breaking my promise to him, but will then probably watch his Dad go completely I don't know what, but it's not going to be good, so can we please, please, agree that if my time is up, it's just not going to be right now, and will happen later, after I've had a chance to make up with Booth so he sticks around for Parker_? "Bones, damnit, Temperance, come on!" _Please, just not right now_?

And then, in the midst of it all, I saw a dandelion seed float by, under the wad of napkins you were holding at the end of my nose, and I closed my eyes, and blew. _Please_?

- - -

I was considering myself lucky that you hadn't laid me flat on the ground in front of a field full of five year olds as you stalked away from me, rage in your voice and ice in your eyes as you skewered my hypocrisy. You're right, you're always right, and if I wasn't such a horse's ass and had just asked Parker what he'd meant when we were first in the car after church, then I wouldn't be standing there, trying to decide whether to do what you told me and stay put, and cheer on Parker, whose game was starting any minute, or go after you and apologize and let you punch me or kick me in the nuts if it was going to make you feel better and forgive me.

But at least you went over to the ice cream truck, and I turned my head back to watch the milling kids starting to line up for the kickoff, and then I saw you'd moved under a tree and were watching the start of the game as you drank something, so I turned my head back to watch Parker, except he was looking up to see if we were watching. But he looked past me, then, and said "Dad! Dr. Bones!" with a look of fear I'd never seen on his face before, and when I turned around, your legs were sliding out from under you as you sank to the ground.

I've never run so fast in my life, except when I saw that plume of dust in that quarry, and your head was drooping forward and when I pulled your chin up, "Bones!" your nose was bleeding again, and your face was gray and your eyes glazed, and someone was stuffing napkins in my hand. "No, not again, Bones, don't do this." I tipped your head back, and even more color was draining from your face into all the napkins in my hand, and _goddamnit this is not happening, please_, you coughed and made this burbling, spitting sound that meant you were choking on blood, because I've heard that noise before, and so I pulled your head forward, and _please God no that light's dimming in her eyes_ and so I pushed your head down, and you hacked so much blood into the napkins that my own knees hit the ground where I'd been squatting, as someone behind us stuffed more napkins in front of me and I said "Come on, Bones, come on!", and you coughed and spat again, and I was starting to shake because I needed another fresh wad of napkins, _please God, you are not supposed to go like this, you are supposed to be in bed with me when I'm 90 and you're 85 and we have dozens of grandchildren, and together we just don't wake up one morning, not you bleeding out on me because I made you angry about something I shouldn't have been so stupid about in the first place, and I haven't told you I love you a thousand million more times so you can't go yet, so Please_? "Bones, damnit, Temperance, come on!" _Please_!

And then, in the midst of it all, I saw a dandelion seed float by under the blood-soaked wad of napkins I was holding at the end of your nose, and I closed my eyes, and blew. _Please_?

- - -

And then, my nose stopped bleeding.

- - -

And then, your nose stopped bleeding.

- - -

Closing my eyes, for a moment, I whispered "_Thanks_."

- - -

Closing my eyes, for a moment, I whispered "_Thank You_."

- - -

And then I looked right at you, and you looked right back at me, and it was okay.

- - -

I don't know why, but it was. It was really okay.


	29. Chapter 29

29

29.

We were staring at each other, your hand full of blood-soaked napkins you'd pulled away from my face, when I heard "Dad?" very softly. I blinked, sat up a little so my back rested against the tree, and Parker came in to focus behind you.

"Dad?" he said again, touching your shoulder.

Never taking your eyes from me, you said, "Hey, buddy," so quietly that I doubted any of the crowd that had gathered had heard.

"Is Dr. Bones okay?"

You were still staring at me, and neither one of us really seemed to be able to answer—_what the hell just happened? what the heaven just happened_?—but we couldn't sit there all day, so I blinked again and shifted my gaze so I was looking at Parker.

"Just a nosebleed, Parker. Kind of took me by surprise."

He nodded, eyes serious, and came around you to squat in front of me, taking in my face and the wads of bloody napkins on the ground. "I saw you slide down the tree." I nodded, then looked at you to see you swallowing, hard.

"Yeah, good eyes, buddy, good eyes."

I tried again. "Sometimes when people get nosebleeds, they get dizzy, so it's better to sit down."

He nodded again, then looked at your face and back to mine, and patted your cheek until you blinked and gave him a faint smile.

"It's okay to be scared, Daddy. But you and Dr. Bones need new shirts. Can we go now?"

And that matter-of-fact statement broke the daze we'd been in, and I looked down at myself. My shirtfront was stiffening, the maroon fabric soaked almost brown, and splatters on my pants. There was blood on your hands and your shirtcuffs, and running down the bottom of one of the sleeves of your sweater up to your elbow. You'd ground soil into the dirt of your slacks where you were kneeling, I'd bet.

It was a lot of blood. More than at the Checkerbox, when it had welled out through my hands, pulsing, and hot, and sticky, until I felt like I was drowning in it, and that scared me, but I'd apparently been given my wish that whatever might happen not happen today, so I smiled and said, "Yes, we do need to change. Could you go to the ice cream man and ask for a bottle of water first, please? I want to wipe my face off."

He nodded, glad to have something to do, and clomped off in his cleats, his voice piping not too far behind us.

"Seeley?" I said, meeting your eye. "It's not going to be today. Let's get going."

The crowd around this little drama had started to disperse, and you thanked the two or three people remaining that no, thank you, we didn't need an ambulance, but yes, we were going to see a doctor next, when Parker returned with the water and more napkins.

He came around and plunked down, Indian-style, and handed you the bottle. With a "thanks, buddy," you opened it, soaking some napkins and reaching out to my face. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the tree, and thought big thoughts like "thank you," and "please just let them be okay," as you wiped off my face. You stopped, and I heard the glug of the bottle, and more wet towels on my face, my neck, my upper chest as you peeled away the blood-soaked cloth. It really was a lot of blood.

"I clearly need to just walk around with a tub of wet wipes," I tried, as I cracked my eyes open again.

"Slob," you replied, your voice soft and your eyes full of terror. "Here, let's get you up. Parker, would you hold this, please?" You handed him the bottle and stood, then reached down, a hand under each of my arms, as I pulled my knees up and reached up around your neck with my hands. "Upsy-daisy, Bones, one-two-three," and then I was standing, my back to the tree.

Standing was good. Not falling over was even better. My arms were still around your neck, and your hands had moved to my waist, our foreheads touching, as we contemplated the next step as we stared at one another.

Home? Hospital? It wouldn't do to tempt fate with the plain evidence of all the blood I'd lost all around us.

"The doctor's," you mouthed, and I nodded, took a step forward toward you. Hey, my knees were working, always good. I put my hand out on Parker's curls, and said, "Thanks for your help, pal. Can you do me a favor and pick up my bag while we go back to the car?"

Your solemn little man did as I asked, and you shifted your arm round my waist as we made our way slowly back to the car without further mishap. I felt like we were walking through molasses.

"Maybe you should go to the doctor's, Dr. Bones?"

"Yes, I think so too, Parker. I'm sorry I ruined your last game, and we were going to go on that hayride, but would you mind really badly if we dropped you at home with your Mom?"

"It's okay," he said. "There was too much goose poop all over the field, anyway."

This struck us both as the funniest thing either of us had ever heard, and I started giggling, as did you, while Parker just looked confused. Between what were becoming full-on belly laughs, you gasped, "Yeah, kind of gross," before dissolving in whoops that set me off further, losing the ability to stifle my own howls of laughter. Leave it to a five year old to put everything into perspective.

"You guys are weird," he said, shaking his head.

We straightened, and I said, "Would you hand me my phone, Parker?" I called Rebecca as you opened the car doors and put him into his seat. I held on to the hood for safe measure. "Rebecca, it's Temperance. Look, I'm sorry to call, but… I had a bit of an episode, and we need to go to the doctor's to get checked out."

"Do you need me to come get him?"

"No. We'll drop him off on the way."

"Okay, we'll be here."

You came back around as I turned off the phone, and took the hand I held out to guide me to the car. I felt a little better as your other hand found the small of my back—completely irrational, I know, but true—and I made it into my seat without further drama. As you clicked my seatbelt closed, I leant forward to kiss your temple, and you turned, brushing your lips against mine. "Too much goose poop," I whispered, and you snorted.

We reached Rebecca's quickly, and she came out to the car, her eyes widening as she took in the gore on my shirt. You'd gotten out to unbuckle Parker, and I'd opened the door as you pulled him out and set him down. I waved, and said, "Thanks again for your help, Parker," but he hauled himself up onto the step and then into my lap to give me a kiss.

A light in his eye, he asked me. "Did you get what you wished for?"

"So far, Parker, so far."

He nodded, hopped down, waved goodbye, and pulled his mother up the walkway, his cleats clacking on the cement.

Shutting my door, you came back around and as you got back in your seat, quipped, "You know it's bad when the doctor's on speed dial," then pushed a button and waited. "Delia? I was calling for Dr. … oh, hi, Henry." Henry was answering Delia's phone?

"Uh-huh. Bones had a nosebleed at the soccer field, and it's stopped, but she lost a lot of blood. Can we…okay, see you there."

"They'll meet us there." You pulled the car out, your hand taking mine as you drove. I'd closed my eyes, and was resting against the headrest. "Bones, I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven. Just don't make me mad again, or next time I'll grow a second head made of…"

"Goose poop!" you wheezed, as we started whooping again. When we'd calmed down, you said, still sounding guilty, "You should have just decked me."

I cracked an eye, and shot you my "_knock it off or I'll be really annoyed_" look. "Don't start. It's not your fault. Besides, decking you last time didn't make much of an impact, as far as I can tell. You're still an arrogant jackass—but you are my arrogant jackass, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," you mock-saluted.

"Seeley, both hands on the wheel," I chided, then let my eyes close and head rest again.

"Sorry, Bones."

"Goose poop."

That set us off again, and we were still howling with laughter, tears streaming down our faces, as you walked me into the E.R., Henry and Delia arriving just seconds behind us. They eyed us with alarm as we continued to whoop, but guided us back to a bed where I say. While Henry was washing, you explained what had happened, and Delia unbuttoned my bloody shirt, so she could listen to my heart and lungs.

"This is all from your nose?" she asked, and I nodded, as Henry gloved up and took over, starting the neuro exam I could probably perform in my sleep, and Delia shifted over to the sink to wash. "Seeley, that too?" she asked, pointing at your sleeve.

You looked down and nodded, taking it in. As he took a sponge to my face, then shone the light in my eyes and tested my deep tendon reflexes, Henry said, lightly, "It's a wonder you walked in here on your own two feet."

"Blood pressure's a little low, pulse is a little light, but capillary fill is good and neuro is normal," he narrated, and Delia stepped back under his arm to say, "Open, Temperance," shining her scope into my mouth. "Did you swallow any?"

"She coughed most of it up, I think," I heard you say, as Delia continued to look.

"Incision's just fine. No headache or dizziness preceding?" I shook my head again, as Henry began interrogating you about our activities in the past 72 hours.

He shook his head. "Nothing that should have brought it on." Delia shook her head, then, too. "There shouldn't have been so much blood. Hold on a sec, okay? Seeley, you take that sweater off and wash up before you touch Temperance, okay?"

She and Henry stepped away, heads bowed, looking over occasionally. You finished and came to stand near my head, your sweater gone and bloody shirtcuffs rolled up, shaking your as you looked down at my throat and the smears and runnels of blood on my chest where it had soaked through and run down my stomach. "That blood's never going to come out of that shirt," you began, "but it's better than…"

"Don't start with the…" I wheezed, then lost it, as I whooped "goose poop!" and then you were bent halfway over, tears streaming down both our faces.

Henry came back over, looking confused. "Are you two okay? Do you guys want a sedative? Or six?"

I wiped my eyes. "Whoo. No. Just, Parker said something that refreshed our perspective on things, that's all. You kind of had to be there. We'll settle down, I promise."

"If you're sure," he said, not looking convinced.

Delia returned, adding, "I'm getting you a room down the hall, let's see about moving you upstairs overnight in a bit, okay?"

I nodded. "I should just endow an E.R. bed for my own personal use—the Temperance Brennan Perpetual Fainting Couch, or something."

She snorted. "You're wasted on your day job. You should get into stand up." Seeley, I love her. If you ever leave me, I'm marrying her.

You arm around my waist, Henry walked us back to the room, which had a shower and a sink. "Why don't you change into a Johnny, Temperance?"

I grumbled, but my shirt was disgusting, my pants no better, so I changed as you steadied me, just in case. My phone buzzed, but I ignored it until it stopped, but then yours began, so you pulled it out. "If they're calling us for work," you began, before seeing the number and flipping it open.

"Jack. No, she's okay. How'd you… he called you? No. You don't need to come down, we're just going to sit for a bit while she rests and eats something. I'll call in an hour, okay?"

Closing the phone, you said, "Parker called Uncle Jack to tell him you weren't feeling well. They were going to run over here, but..."

"No, you're right. Let's just hang out for the next couple of hours and see what happens."

You rubbed your hands over your face, still looking frightened out of your wits, and said, "Bones? What the hell happened back there?"

I shook my head. "I have no idea. Serendipity? Grace? The whims of the Universe? Whatever... I'm glad."

"You scared the shit out of me." Oh, Seeley, I know. But it's done now, and whatever's going to happen in the future is going to happen, and I just don't think it's good for you to think about this right now. Maybe later, when I'm home, and we're both a little less freaked out, but I'm not going to be able to calm you down right now.

"I was scared, too. Let's not talk about it right now, okay? Why don't you just come over here and give me your best '_I'm sorry I'm a jackass_' kiss and go get me something to eat?"

You half-smiled, but got up and came over, and gave me a soft and gentle kiss. I slid my hand to the back of your neck, and said, "No, that's your '_she looks like hell and I'm afraid to really kiss her_' kiss. The '_I'm a jackass'_ kiss involves more tongue." You snorted, and tried again. Whoo, I thought, my knees are weak and I'm sitting in bed.

"Much better. Now go get me a cheeseburger. With bacon."

"Yes, Missus."

You left the room and Delia entered not long after. "He said you were hungry."

I nodded. "Not really, but it gives him something constructive to do. I was trying to eat my lunch when my nose started spurting like bloody hell."

"Bloody hell is right. I've seen less blood than you came in just with on your shirt completely hemmhorage out."

"You should have seen the five wads of napkins he went through."

"Jesus."

"Apparently. Or someone," I mused aloud.

She looked at me askance. "What happened?" Ah, well, she'll probably just think I'm delirious from all the blood I lost, and won't stick me in the psychiatric ward.

"We were arguing, well, he was picking a fight with me about a conversation I'd had with Parker, about how I don't necessarily believe in God, but that sometimes, I'd, well, put my thoughts out into the universe, like making a wish on a dandelion."

She smiled. "That's a nice image."

"Well, Parker took that as meaning that I was praying, and said something about it at church, and Seeley totally overreacted and thought I'd lied to Parker, and was just being a complete jackass, so I told him off and stomped off to get some lunch, and the next thing I knew I was bleeding, and Delia, I knew that was it. Knew it, as well as I know all the bones in the body. I have no question in my mind whatsoever that it was all over, and I was just thinking, please not while he thinks I'm mad at him, and please not in front of Parker, and just, _later_, please, you know? And I just kept thinking that, over and over, as he was trying to get the bleeding to stop, and it wouldn't, and then, for whatever reason, I just . . . I saw this dandelion seed floating by, so I closed my eyes ..."

"And blew." She breathed.

I drew in a shaky breath. "And it stopped. Just like that. I don't know why."

"Jesus," she repeated.

"Or something."

She shook herself, then. "That's quite a..."

"Something."

Then she smiled at me, and said, "Well, whatever it is, I don't want you walking out of here tonight. There's what I'd guess is close to a pint all over the two of you, and if you say you lost more, I believe you. I'd like to give you a few pints and some Ringer's, we only gave you a little the last time you were in here, and then in the morning we'll send you home, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan. But I do have a complaint."

She looked concerned. "What is it?"

"This hospital needs double-wide beds."

She laughed. "It does, or at least for the two of you. Honestly, you two are..."

"Something."

"Yes, something."

You came back in then, juggling two plates of food and two milkshakes. "Seeley, I am not going to be able to eat all that."

You pouted. "Bones, just try. I even got you a salad for after you eat your cheeseburger. And a strawberry milkshake. First, meat, then, rabbit food. The salad has lots of tofu, and broccoli..." you said, trailing off like you were enticing Parker with ice cream for dessert after he finished his vegetables.

Delia laughed, and Henry followed you into the room. "I checked with upstairs and they only have a bed until tomorrow morning, so Temperance, you're just going to have to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by the morning. I'll send someone down to take you up, and we'll come by in the morning before you go, okay?"

"Fine, thanks."

They left, and I looked at you. "We have to invite them to the wedding."

"Do you still . . . I mean, it's coming up and you're not. . ."

"We are not putting it off. No way. I'm probably going to have to have the damned dress taken in now, and it fit perfectly when I'd bought it, damnit, and I am going to just suck down fried foods between now and then and hope I blow up like a balloon."

"You are such a romantic."

"Damn straight. Get over here and give me another kiss." That accomplished, I grimaced, and picked up my cholesterol sandwich.

- - -

Oh, Bones. You're such a trouper. You're cracking jokes and chatting with the nurses as they hook you up to two pints of blood and a bag of saline, and I'm looking at those red-filled bags and knowing there was more on those napkins than they're putting back into you. But you look okay, actually, your color's better and you're not that gray color that tells me the light's about to go out in your eyes. What the hell happened back there? I'm not complaining, mind you, but I've had buddies bleed out on me, and I know you were going . . . I knew it, I've seen it too many times. And then, you closed your eyes, and I thought, this is _it_, but you opened them again, clear, and looking ... relieved ... and it just _stopped_. And I knew it was over, for now, but I have no idea why.

You're ignoring the fact that Henry and Delia have _no idea_ why the hell it started in the first place, and while I'll believe you when you say it wasn't the fight that started it all, the fact remains that this last week of stuffing you full of food and sleeping fourteen hours a day seems to have been useless, if something like that is going to come out of nowhere. You know damned well something happened back there, and you seem to know what it was, and I'm still not so sure, which is the only reason I let you put me off about talking about it.

I don't want to put off the wedding, really, but Bones, my heart practically stopped today and if that happens while we're in church... well, I don't know. And now they're finally done with you, and we're alone in the room, and I'm going to stop writing on the back of this information sheet and go listen to your heart beat. And thank God for dandelions.

I called Angela after you'd fallen asleep, sitting behind me with your arms around my waist. I'd made the nurse slip a sedative in your coffee after you wouldn't stop pacing, only to come over and hug me tighter than was really comfortable, and then get up and start pacing again. I'm sorry about that, but you really needed to calm down.

She picked up on the first ring. "Bren?"

"Hi, Ange."

"What happened?"

"I had a nosebleed, and it wouldn't stop, and Ange, I was sure I was a goner, and then, it just stopped. I ... kind of asked the Universe to make it stop, and ... it did."

"Bren? Really?"

"Yeah. Seeley is completely freaked out. Just, it's weird. I'm okay with it, but he's having a really hard time. Harder than me, and I'm the one who should be heading for the mountains."

"Hills, honey, not mountains. Bren, he's not the only one who's worried. This is not good, this is the third time in how many weeks? And your wedding is three weeks away?"

"Ange, I know. But... if I don't at least try to keep things as normal as possible, then it wouldn't be right. I promise, I am going to take it easy, and I am so glad that Daniel and Clark and Sully can help, but . . . it's not good for either of us to be at home all the time either. I just want to try to keep doing some constructive things, you know?"

"Sweetie, I do. The lab's not the same without you bugging the hell out of everyone for results, and Booth coming in and adding his annoying boss-man nagging to the mix. Clark is just too nice, and Sully's too conscious that neither of you are there. And it's slow, anyway-- it's like all the murderers are waiting until you guys are back on the job. These limbo cases are so boring, I could actually do with someone lighting a fire under my ass."

"I don't know what that means." I actually did, but I thought she needed the laugh. And she did laugh.

"Oh, honey, never change. When can we come to see you?"

"I'm going home tomorrow morning, so I'll call you when I get home, okay?"

"Okay. Love you."

"Love you."

Poor Ange. Poor you. Poor me. Poor all of us. But I had a piece of dandelion fluff that was some kind of proof of something, and I'd just have to see what happened next. I shifted a bit so you'd have room when you inevitably rolled over on top of me, and laid my head in the crook of your arm.

- - -

What happened next was nothing remarkable, for the next few days. Delia and Henry let me go home the next day despite having no explanation for what had happened, but I was indisputably better, so there was no reason to keep me. You were following me around the house like a puppy, and I was trying not to let it annoy me, because I would probably do the same, but come on, Booth. I can walk down to the cellar with a laundry basket by myself. I'm starting to wonder what you're hiding down there. I was getting cabin fever, even though I actually finished this Kathy and Andy in one six hour burst of inspiration, which you also freaked out about, until I gave you the whole book to read and you shut up, pulling the laptop into your lap and dipping your hand into the bowl of pretzels I set down next to you. I fixed myself lunch and offered you something, but you just nodded and kept reading.

Well, I'm glad you like it, at least. I went back to the bedroom and lay down, just looking at the painting Angela had given us. I suppose after almost four years of basically stalking us until we got together, I shouldn't be surprised about how she'd captured almost everything, and it really was beautiful. She hadn't gotten the inner darkness we both shared, but we both hid that from the world, except from each other. They weren't ready to know, no matter how much we loved them, and I was as open with Angela, and now Jack, as I'd ever been with anyone, before you.

When this is over, I'll tell you what's not in my file about all the places I went and the people I found who then had to be killed by you or someone like you, but I don't want to do that now, when this is hard enough for both of us. What I need from you is less absolution for the past, and more the day to day reassurance and comfort and love of not being lonely anymore. The past is the past, and I don't know what's in the future, but having a content and loving right now? That's the ghost I need exorcised, and you've already done that.

I'm writing this record with you, and it's funny and sad and wonderful all at once. Before we were together, we talked in code, all the eventuallys and compliments and complements and promises we weren't ready to speak about, but in some way understood what each other meant. And we each treasure the right to not talk about something before we're truly ready, and let the other talk when they're willing. And since we've gotten together, we really know what the other is thinking most of the time, especially with work, which we'll have to work on because just announcing our conclusions isn't enough evidence for Caroline. "Freaky mind reading" probably isn't admissible. And now, though, while I'm not afraid to say aloud anything to you, sometimes writing it here is easier than saying it aloud, which I suppose is a kind of avoidance. But at least we're talking, even if it's just taking turns making this record, and not saying some of these things out loud.

So here goes, because I don't think we can have this conversation without you getting all protective and not listening to me. I need to get back to work. At least just a little. And no, it's not just because I'm a workaholic squint, although there's that, too, and I managed, not well, but I managed on that for a while before you came along. I love spending time with you, not having to go anywhere, and just enjoying your company. But the first reason I fell in love with you was your equal dedication to our cases, to our victims, to our families, and that part of our partnership is what helps makes us whole. It wasn't whole, really, until we finally admitted how we felt, but not doing the things that we do so well together, helping people? That's not whole either, and I need to satisfy that part of me, that part of us, if I'm going to have all the energy and drive I need for this next bit.

I'm not talking about going out in the field every day to interview people and chase suspects, and I'm not talking about spending six hours under the beating hot sun digging up bodies. I've come to accept that I just don't have the stamina for that, right now, though I'm always going to have that in my mind as the goal to get back to. But I need the mental stimulation of our interaction while we work cases together and with the team, and the emotional satisfaction of bringing those people closure, if I'm, if we're, really going to be all that we are, really whole. It's part of what makes me love you-- you're as fierce in the hunt as I could hope for in a partner, and we need that to stay who we are. I hope you can understand that.

So-- I'll make you a proposal. I go back to work next week, on the schedule Cam and I originally talked about. I've _got_ to start chemo, we can't really put it off any longer, so I'm already going to be leaving the office after lunch three days a week and not going back afterward. I'll leave the class to Daniel until then, and we'll see how I feel Thursday night, when the medication has had a chance to make me feel lousy, and then we'll see how I feel the next day, and then we'll talk aloud about what the schedule will be after that. And during next week, I promise I will use a stool while I'm working on remains, and that I'll take a break every hour for a snack, and if I'm tired I will go lie down in Angela's office while she's working so she can keep an eye on me. If anything goes wrong, Cam's a doctor and knows what to do, and of course they will call you if anything goes wrong, which we just can't know if it will. Seeley, I know that you love me more than anything in the world except Parker, and I love you more than anything in the world, period, but our friends love us too, and they can help so we can spend some time doing the things that make us a _we_. And the fact remains, as it always has, that all this worry for what's going to happen with the cancer will be for naught, because either one of us could get run down by a truck in a completely random accident. I certainly hope not. But I don't want to hide in the house in the hope of avoiding it, if it means I don't do the other things that are more than worth the risk.

- - -

Temperance, so help me, I'm calling Hodgins and Angela to make them report what you ate every day, and if I so much as once catch you standing over a body rather than sitting on a stool, or catch you carrying anything heavier than a file more than an inch thick, I will haul you out of there so fast your head will spin. And you're not getting hit by a truck, because you're not going to leave that lab unless I'm with you.

- - -

I love you, too.

- - -

And stop drugging my coffee. It's bad enough you're making me drink decaf with you. And I liked the book. Thanks for the dedication, again. My mom's going to squeal.

- - -

I was unpacking some of the work clothes Thursday morning in anticipation for going back on Monday, and had a thought, one I didn't particularly like. I've been mostly wearing sweats, or pajamas, or your clothes, which are huge on me anyway, and I realized I hadn't worn any of my suits or dress slacks in quite some time. I think I wore skirts to the lab the few times I went in, and that day I recovered Emily Harris. So I tried on some of my more favorite items, including a few of my favorite pairs of pants, the ones that fit under coveralls but look nice in court.

"Seeley, I have to go shopping." You were reading one of the books that Jack and Angela had brought us, and looked over your shoulder to where I was standing, behind you.

"What's with the frowny face, Bones?"

I came around to the front of the sofa, feeling whiny and thirteen years old again. "My pants don't fit. I tried a belt, but there's too much extra fabric, and they don't look nice."

Now you had the frowny face. I shouldn't have said anything, I should have just gotten Angela to help me. You reached out to pull me over, and took in the two extra inches of fabric at the waist that made my pants sit indecently low on my hips. "What, Bones, you're not into the jailin' look?" you said lightly, nonetheless pulling me into your lap, tucking my head under your chin, and kissing my hair.

I mumbled into your chest. "I don't know what that means. None of my pants fit, and I don't like to wear skirts or dresses in the lab, because it gets cold in there, and some of my blouses are too big too, unless you want me to flash the whole lab when I'm looking at remains."

"I definitely don't want that. Sam will kill me if I start shooting the squints. My poor Bones, come on, let's go wherever you want and spend way too much money on clothes you're going to get too fat for really soon."

"I hate shopping."

"Do you want to call Angela and have her go with you?"

"No. She'll just cry, and I still have to go over there and see if my dress still fits, so I don't want to make her cry twice."

"Do you want to just order some things online?"

"I can't. I have to have my clothes tailored already because my waist is too small compared with my hips, and I know that Angela and half the women in America would kill me for complaining about that, but it only makes sense to go to the store because it takes less time than ordering something and sending it back and having it tailored. And I need at least three new suits, because Caroline has that trial starting two weeks after the wedding that I have to testify at, and I can't go in there looking like a bag of bones."

You rocked me in your arms a bit, and kissed the top of my head again, before boosting me out of your lap. "Well, let's go, and afterward we'll see if there's a dolphin show at the Aquarium, okay?"

I'd forgotten about dolphins.

- - -

Shopping was not fun, especially considering that when I'd put on my favorite tight jeans before we went out, even they were lose. You noticed, too, but you didn't say anything. It was hard to find things in the smaller sizes I tended to wear anyway, and I was now almost two sizes smaller. There were lots of the smaller sizes in petites, but I was too tall and my chest was too big. I was starting to feel gawky, like I hadn't in 12 years. We were at the last store I was willing to try, and I was in the dressing room, standing in my underwear, trying to decide what to try on. I was looking at the sharp angles my hip bones and elbows were making, and my prominent ribcage, that used to be covered with lean muscle, when I heard one of the salesgirls say to another, "She's such a skinny bitch, but she's got a ton of clothes in there with her, I deserve a big commission on someone that anorexic." The other responded "Tell me about it." I wondered which of the two girls who'd been helping me started it, and decided I didn't want to know. Instead, I sat there, feeling sorry for myself, until there was a knock on the door.

"Someone's in here," I sniffled. Your head appeared over the top of the door, then.

"I know someone's in there, it's you. What's the matter? Open the door, Bones."

I did, not even caring that you weren't supposed to be in the women's dressing room. It was the middle of the day, and there weren't that many people around anyway. I sniffled again, and you put your arm around me. "Sweetheart, let's finish up and go see the dolphins."

"I don't want to see the dolphins."

You took my chin in your fingers, and tilted it up to look at me. "What happened? I saw those two girls gossiping in the doorway, did they say something to you?" I shook my head and sniffled again, a tear leaking out of my eye. Great. I was regressing more by the minute.

"Bones, don't lie to me. Did they hurt your feelings? Sweetheart, come here," you said, and pulled my head into your chest. "You're the most beautiful woman in the whole world and those girls are just jealous witches who don't have the talent, the beauty, the brains you've got in one nucleus of one atom in your little finger." I sniffled louder then, and you started petting my hair, and you laid a kiss on my head, and said quietly, "I love you Temperance" and then I started to cry like I hadn't since I was stood up for the junior prom when I was seventeen by a boy I thought liked me, but had only asked me on a dare that he wouldn't have the guts to stand me up. He did have the guts. "Shh, sweetheart, shh, come on Bones, don't cry."

I had my arms around your waist by this time and was probably getting mucus all over the front of your shirt as I continued to cry, but you smelled good and you were warm and you weren't going to call me anorexic or a skinny bitch or think that I wanted my ribs to stick out. I kept sobbing, because I knew it was only going to get worse, pretty much everyone who had chemotherapy lost at least moderate weight, and I didn't want to have to keep buying clothes I'd have to replace as I lost more weight when all I wanted was my healthy body back. "What did they say?" you repeated, and I was so upset I just told you, and you growled, really growled, not just the sexy growl you make in bed, and pulled my chin up to look at you again. You had a fierce look in your eye as you said "Bones, you're not skinny, or anorexic, or a bitch, you're just sick and I don't like to see you so upset." You gave me one of your sweet kisses and wiped my face off with the back of your sleeve, and then said, "Let me go get you some tissues, okay?"

I nodded, and you kissed me again, and promised you'd be back soon. I decided I'd really just had enough, and got dressed, leaving all the clothes on the hangers to be put away. I'd just send Angela to go buy me some things, after all, or wear full skirts where it didn't matter if it was a little big. I had lots of peasant skirts and wrap sweaters I could wear. It wasn't like I was going to be going out in the field much, anyway, and I'd just take some of the suits I already had to the tailor. I could buy new ones when I was back to my normal size. It was taking you longer to come back with tissues than I thought it would-- there was a men's bathroom just around the corner from the dressing room, but maybe you'd gotten turned around, so I decided I didn't look that bad, red eyes and nose notwithstanding, and emerged from the dressing room.

If I didn't already love you what I saw when I came out would have convinced me you were the most wonderful man in the whole wide world. You had cornered the two salesgirls, who were cowering, and were gesticulating wildly at a woman who could only have been the manager, with this look of fury on your face. I couldn't really hear what you were saying because you were so angry you weren't yelling, you were using that low voice you use right before you slam a suspect into a wall or some other hard object, so all I really caught was snippets: "My wife" and "most beautiful woman" and "a little sensitivity" and "catty bitches" and "never shop here again which is too bad for you because we're _loaded_." And then the manager looked terrified, and started to apologize, and I heard the words "fired," and "donation" and "utterly lacking in human compassion," and a part of me laughed, because you have a wonderful vocabulary, but you tend to leave the big words aside when you're playing cop and not giving vent to your inner poetry minor, while the rest of me got all weepy again because you loved me enough to yell at not just one, but three women, which I know you hate to do because Caroline raised you to be a gentleman. You don't even yell at female suspects, even after we've proven they did it. So I sniffled again, and you heard me, and you wound up what you were saying while sticking your fingers in those girls' faces, and then you stalked over to me and threw your arm around me, and laying a kiss on the top of my head, said, "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go see the dolphins and get some ice cream."

So we saw the dolphin show, and we sat up front, and I got splashed a little, which was fine, because I could see them smiling better up close anyway. Dolphins do so smile. I felt even better after a coffee sundae with my usual, plus marshmallow sauce, and not just for the extra calories. And then I felt the best I had all day when you made out with me in front of the ice cream store, right in the middle of the street, the excuse being that you got carried away trying to lick off the marshmallow on my face, because at least you still thought I was attractive.

- - -

We were riding back in the car, and you were looking much better for some ice cream in you when you turned to look at me. "We need to call Steven about making sure he's coming tomorrow night, and I need to invite other people over, too."

"Bones, you don't have to..."

"Of course I do. You need your friends, and we need our friends, and I haven't seen anyone all week anyway. We'll order most of the food from the deli, or I can ask people to bring things, and we've never used the grill. Surely you're not turning down an excuse to set fire to every type of meat under the sun?"

It would be nice, I was just worried about how tired you might get. But you're right, being as normal as possible is what we need to do and if you weren't sick, I would have long since had a party with all our friends there just for the sheer pleasure of making out with you in front of them. I hadn't actually used the grill much at all since I'd bought the place, or the back patio and yard either-- I hadn't invited a lot of people to my place even before working with you squints and taking over my unit had made things so busy, and I mostly used home as a place to crash and be melancholy on the weekends when I didn't have Parker. I'd been really enjoying having Jack and Angela over, and we'd had fun the two times Cam and Sully'd eaten over, and I realized that you'd made the house a home.

"Why the hell not? It won't be too much longer before it's too cold to hang out on the porch, and I haven't used the grill all year. I'll send an email and ask them to invite whomever of the family I might forget? Sound good?" Whomever? Did I just use that for the first time since my senior year in college? You're rubbing off on me, next thing I know I'll need glasses from all that squinting.

"Whomever?" you smirked. "Seeley, you know it turns me on when you use squint words." Stop reading my mind, woman. Oh, wait, it turns you on?

"Sesquepedalian." You laughed, and I thanked my SAT vocabulary tutor.

"Penumbra, eleemosynary, polysyllabic, interdependent nation-states, antidisestablishmentarianism, fiscal policy." You laughed again, and it was the nicest thing I'd heard all day. I kept it up all the way home, though I'd already been through all the literary analysis jargon I was most familiar with, but I was panicking a little about losing the mood because I was starting to run out of things to say as we got in the door and you started unbuckling my belt as soon as I'd locked up behind us. Somehow, if I started spouting army acronyms and named all the parts of a sniper rifle, I didn't think you'd have quite that look in your eye.

And then, I remembered my geology class from sophomore year. The words "antediluvian" and "shifting tectonic plates" were never so sexy as when you laughed, and then moaned as I followed your vocabulary recital with a well-placed bite and a lick, so I tried to remember my chemistry class too. As I settled myself between your legs to taste you, I wondered if "molecule" was sufficiently squinty. Apparently it was, because the guy who owns the condo upstairs started banging on the floor with a broomstick. I guess he's been away on a trip, if he's just noticing the way I make you yell now.

"Avogadro's Number."

"Ah! Seeley!"


	30. Chapter 30

30.

I woke up around 9:30, after we'd passed out on the living room floor after you started countering my squint speak with your own specialized vocabulary. "Cam shaft" and "carburetor" will always sound sexy as hell from here on out, though it may skeeve out the guys at the motor pool when I get a hard on the next time I bring the truck in for work. But whatever, you're worth it.

I scooped you off the floor and carried you back to the bedroom, enjoying all over again the way you snuggled into me as I carried you. My poor Bones, you'll always be beautiful, you are, so much so that my heart melts all over again every time I wake up to see you for the first time each day, but I know you're scared about what it means that you're already so thin. I'm scared, too, but it hurts me to see you so upset, because whether you believe me or not, all I see is my wry, sexy, brilliant, precious Bones.

I pulled the covers up over you, and couldn't resist smoothing the hair back from your face, but I had some things I wanted to do (including this) so I snagged a pair of shorts (no need to give the neighbors too much of a show, it's all for you, baby) and went back to the living room to clean up. I need to get a cushier blanket and maybe a softer rug for the living room, too. My knees are getting old.

After running the blanket and some other stuff down to the washer, I booted up your computer and my email. (For the record, it's joykeenan, but hey, most people don't know that, okay?)

_"From: S. Booth  
To: "Squints," "Cops," "Keenans," "Booths," "Steven," "Docs," "Becs," _

_"Julian," "Daniel"_

_Re: Booth/Bones Barbecue Saturday_

_All,_

_Bones and I are done hibernating and are coming back to work Monday, so Saturday is your last chance to enjoy our charming and delightful company before we start breathing fire down your necks and start making you actually work again. Side dishes and desserts welcome (yes, Shaky, Grace will make pudding)-- we'll handle the rest. There's a yard, a swing, and some toys for your screaming rugrats to chew on._

_Beer will be cold by 12:30, but if you're dying to help set the table, feel free to start coming by after 11:30. Look forward to seeing you. Booths & Keenans, call me re: sleeping arrangements._

_Booth_

_P.S. Bones is feeling bummed out, so if you don't come, I will hunt every single one of you down and shoot you. You too, Sam."  
_  
I hit send, and not ten minutes later, my phone rang.

"Ange."

"You are the sweetest man. Even Jack's crying."

"Well, we were thinking of doing it anyway, and then she got really upset today, so I thought it might cheer her up a little."

"What happened?"

I told her about your pants being too big, and the fact that nothing at the first two stores fit you right, so you were blue to begin with even before we got to the store where those evil bitches worked. "Angela, she was so sad, and normally, she would have blazed out of there, on fire with some polysyllabic scathing remark."

"Booth, sweetie, she's always been self-conscious about the way she looks."

"She shouldn't. I mean, she's the most beautiful woman in the world, she's just stunning."

"I know, and you know, but she had this boyfriend in college who..."

So then she told me all about that jackass grad student who was the TA to your anatomy class in your freshman year, who played mind games with you while you helped with his research, and slept with you, and when the paper you'd half-written was published without any credits to you, he dumped you when you confronted him and told you he'd only "pity fucked a brainiac scarecrow."

Angela claims not to remember his name, but I'll find him.

"My poor Bones."

"Yeah. She lost twenty pounds and had this horrible case of viral pneumonia most of the winter, but then she took her first archaeology class and lit up like a house on fire. She was so focused on the reading that she didn't notice I was pushing snacks in front of her every half hour. But she put it back on slowly, anyway-- she's always had a fast metabolism." She paused, clearly debating whether to say something next. "She was like that when you were dead those two weeks. I couldn't get her to eat _anything_."

I remembered. I'd been lined up with the rest of the honor guard when the squints and you had shown up. At first, I was shocked at how cold you looked, while everyone else was so visibly upset. You weren't acting, but as I looked at you again, your arms crossed so tightly across your chest that I was surprised you hadn't strangled yourself, I realized something was wrong, because your wrists were so knobby, and when you swept your gaze across the crowd, your cheekbones were so prominent that the dark circles under your eyes looked like black holes. I couldn't figure out why you were so upset, because you were on the list, and I immediately started wondering if something had happened with your family when he showed up.

And then the fight broke out, and quick thinking badass that you are, you clobbered him with that dummy arm. I was so proud of you, but when you stared back at me as I complimented you on what really was a nice shot, Bones, there was a split second of "_Oh, shit, she didn't know, they didn't tell her, she looks that bad because of me_," right before you clocked me. That was a nice shot, too, Bones, I've got to tell you it's been years since anyone knocked me on my ass like that. Anyway, I went and got mad at you for that, but later that week, after all that passed with Zack, and you let me hug you on the stairs, you felt so small that all I could think was "_I need to get some food into her_." Which of course you weren't interested in, all over again, because of Zack. It took you almost a month to gain all of that back, and only because I dragged you out for lunch every day and Angela and I had an unspoken agreement to take turns making you go out for supper.

So I told Angela a little more about the clothes dilemma, and she knew just the thing to do. She's awesome, but you already knew that. I sighed again, then. "My poor Bones. But there's only so much food I can shove into her."

"I know. You're doing the best you can, and she'll accept from you what she won't admit to me."

Oh. "Angela, I'm sorry . . . if . . . I..."

"What? Replaced me as her best friend? Booth, I don't care about that. The minute I saw you two doing your Vulcan mind-meld thing over the Angelator on the Cleo Eller case, I knew you were the one."

"You did?"

"Of course. I'm just glad she found you. Or you found her. Or someone made sure you found each other. Whatever."

"Me too."

She cleared her throat, then, and changed the subject back to barbecue logistics and what food she and Jack would bring. The wedding invitations had gone out, and she'd already gotten more than half the RSVPs back, all accepting.

"Do your out of town friends need hotels?"

"I thought about that, but I hadn't gotten around to it yet. I'd pretty much figured out where to put my folks and the Keenans, but..."

"Booth-- give me their numbers. Jack and I will take care of it. You just concentrate on the bigger picture, okay?"

"Ange, thanks. You're a good friend."

"You'd better believe it, hot stuff. Give me a call if you think of anything else, otherwise we'll see you at 11:30 Saturday."

"Thanks again, Ange." I paused. "Love you."

"You too, hon. You too."

After I'd hung up and put the wash in the dryer, I turned off the lights and came back to bed. I used to stay up late, avoiding thoughts of you in my bed, and because I never slept well anyway, and when I did, I was usually dreaming about Kenton, or Epps, or the Gravedigger again, but now? I was getting more sleep than I had in years, because what sane man wouldn't spend as much time next to you, naked, watching you breathe and smelling your scent and watching your skin, which glows more softly than moonlight? No one, that's who.

/

Dolphin pancakes? I don't know anyone, much less alpha-male FBI agents, who have a box full of animal-shaped cookie cutters that include a dolphin, just in case their son wants to make "zoo cookies." So imagine my surprise when I woke to the sound of you clanking into the bedroom with a tray of dolphin pancakes (with blueberry eyes), a fruit salad, and a bacon and cheese omelet for two.

"Booth... wha?"

"Breakfast, Bones!"

"Mmmph. What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty, sleepyhead."

I guess so. I smiled to myself as I remembered what had preceded the falling-asleep part last night. You always make me feel better. Even the unorthodox combination of dolphins, ice cream, and technical literary analysis terms... ooh, "iambic pentameter." My knees got all watery again. And "Avogadro's Number?" Do that again, soon, please. I smiled over at you as you settled the tray between us, and started pouring syrup on the pancakes.

"These pancakes must have taken forever! They're tiny!"

"Nah, I have a two-burner griddle. I just made a bunch of regular ones all at once, and then cut them out afterward."

"Still, it's a lot of work."

"Nah, Bones, it's no trouble. Never is."

Okay--you're looking at me in that kind of sad and tender way that means Angela or my dad told you something about me that's kicked your alpha-male into overdrive. I used to hate that-- I thought it was an invasion of privacy, but after the 20th or 30th time you spoiled me, then dragged it out of me, I decided it wasn't worth yelling at them about, because if they hadn't told you, you'd have eventually figured it out on your own anyway. Well, you'd bring it up when you thought I was ready.

Taking two pancakes at once, I said, "Mmmph. These are delicious. What's in them?" I had more pancake, a bit of omelet.

"Ground oatmeal, vanilla bean, and malted milk powder."

"So good. Maybe we should open a catering company, or a diner."

"We could call it Comfort Food, Rabbit Food, and Goose Poop."

I snorted my coffee and choked, you pounding me on my back as you laughed at me and I dribbled coffee all over the sheets. When I was done sputtering, I resumed eating, then waited until you'd taken a big swig of milk before saying, "Goose poop." Worked like a charm. You sprayed your milk all over yourself and a lot over me, too, which set us both laughing so hard that the tray started to tip, and the fruit salad bowl fell into my lap, getting juice all over me.

You laughed as I glared, so I tossed a grape at you, and then you picked up a pancake and threw it at me, and laughed as it stuck to my chest with all the syrup you'd dumped on top of them.

"Booth!" Fine. You want to be that way? I cut a bit of omelet, and flicked it at you, laughing as it stuck to your cheek, and then the next thing I knew, the tray was off the bed and I was flat on my back and you'd pinned me down while you gave me that melting grin, and said, "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm going to finish my breakfast."

I came first sometime at about the point after you'd licked the fruit juice from my belly and legs, and when you sucked our the grape that had somehow become lodged in my belly button, but before you finished "making sure" you'd gotten all the fruit juice between my legs and in my core. Now, I knew that I hadn't gotten any there, but you're very fastidious when it comes to cleaning all the nooks and crannies, so, "Ah, Jesus, Seeley!" I was still moaning from the second climax when you lapped up the pancake stuck to my chest, then licked up any remaining crumbs that "just might" have landed between my breasts and on top of my nipples. You're a very thorough cleaner, you "Aaaaahhh!!" and your fingers delved into me as you returned to my breasts, grazing my nipple with your teeth and sucking it firmly, your tongue swabbing circles all over my breasts. As your fingers twisted within me, and you let go of the breast you'd been suckling with a hard pop, "Seeeellllleeeyy!" I began to develop a plan for the rest of the syrup in that pitcher, if I could only get you to stop long enough to let me find it, but then you started flicking my nipple between your fingers in concert with the way your tongue was probing my core, and a sweet-painful spasm shot through me.

"Booth! Oh! Seeley! So sweet! Ahhhhh!"

Evil man, you reached over the side of the bed, your tongue still flicking my clitoris, before you shifted and plunged your fingers into me, as you murmured, "I almost forgot about the syrup." Your fingers curled against my G-spot, just as the first drops of still-warm syrup started to pool on my belly.

"Aaaahhhh! Booth!"

"Mmmm. Syrup and Bones!"

/

We fell back asleep for a while, and when I woke, it was to the smell of syrup, and our arousal, and fruit juice. You had your arm and leg flung across me, and were snoring like a jet engine in my ear as I lay there, remembering how you got rid of the rest of the omelet. The whole set of sheets was going to have to go in the washer, and maybe the mattress pad, too.

I managed to slide out from under you, and gathered the tray to take back to the kitchen. Normally, I'd have been a bit grossed out about the amount of syrup that seemed to have made its way into my hair, but my recollection of those last few pancakes and your tongue before you sheathed yourself in me made it impossible for me to stay mad.

I'm serious when I say if you never touched me again, I could probably come on the memories alone. I was flushed, my breasts heavy, as I scraped the rest of the food into the sink and loaded the dishwasher, and my core began to throb as I recalled how you'd come, "Temperance!" the force of my last climax gripping you and the force of yours loosing another within me. But why on earth would I put up with memories when the real thing was back in the bedroom? Deciding, I reached into the fridge, then returned to the bedroom.

You'd rolled over onto your back, and were still deeply in sleep as I admired the view. You really are a beautiful man. It was almost a shame to wake you, but I didn't think you'd mind what I was about to do.

You didn't really begin to wake until after I'd straddled your upper thighs, sitting back near your knees. You grumbled a little, then, but didn't react as I initially began to stroke you with my fingertips. Your penis twitched and grew beyond its usual morning girth, and then you woke as I began to implement my plane.

"Bones... wha, ooooohhhhh" you groaned, as I grasped you in my hand and stroked upward, thumbing the head of you as I reached the end of your length. You let your eyes closed again as I stroked you several times more, then released my hand, as the fingers of my other hand reached out to spread along the length of you.

Your eyes snapped open. "Bones! What is that!?"

I licked my lips as I looked up at you. "Dulce de leche sauce. It's time for dessert."

"Aaaahhhh, Bones!" I'm glad we both enjoyed my dessert.

/

Of course, turnabout's fair play, and twenty minutes later you'd somehow managed to find another tie on the floor (I swear I just picked up the clothes on the floor the other day) and I was thrashing again, my hands bound above me, as you proceeded to empty the rest of the container onto me. As I moaned from the fourth or fifth climax in a row, you laughed, and husked in my ear, "Sorry, Bones. But you know I always have seconds."

And thirds, apparently.

"Seeley! Please! Aaahhh!!" I didn't really care that the man upstairs was banging on the floor with his broomstick again.

/

Around noon, we finally got out of bed, although you were still pretty floppy as I carried you into the shower. You're so cute when you're trying to beat me up after I've made you come fifteen or twenty times.

I do love taking a shower with you. You have such a sweet smile on your face as I wash your hair, and you occasionally try to beat me with a fist. But I know the power of a good head and neck massage, and you always perk up by the time I've moved us back under the spray to rinse. Of course, you were feeling perkier than I thought you were when you suddenly knelt, and "Jesus! Bones!" whispered "Thirds" before oh God Boooooonnness that feels so good.

/

I meant to tell you something funny that happened at work a few weeks ago. Sully and Clark and I had just come back from that Nationals practice at the start of the Harris case, and were lined up in the bathroom (okay, look, it's not a chick thing, we all had to go, alright? We'd all had too many lattes before we left the stadium. Geez.) when one of the agents from Narcotics pulled up on the other side of me and eyed me as I was trying to finish my business. So, first of all, it's just bad manners to size up another man's package, and it didn't help that I was thinking about that night with the necktie, so when he asked me who had me so blue-balled, I contemplated slamming his head into the wall, before deciding against it. I didn't want to make too much work for the cleaning people. So I just shot him your Evil Death Glare, except I guess I need to work on it, because he just smirked and asked, "Is that Ice Queen Squint still leading you around by your dick?"

I had my hand on his throat and had already pinned him to the wall when Edison came over and slammed the dude's shoulder into the wall for good measure, as I continued to choke the guy. Edison got in his face as he said, viciously (I really like this kid, Bones), "That's no way to talk about a lady, much less Special Agent Booth's fiancee," and then, Bones, he looked down and then up, and sneered, "little man," at the dude, before slamming his shoulder into the wall again. What a great kid.

When Edison let go, I pulled the dude forward a little before slamming him back into the wall again, and said, "Her name is Dr. Brennan, and if I ever hear you call her anything but that, I will pull your balls out through your nose." I let him go then, because he turned green, so I think I made my point.

Sully'd been standing at his station, and was smiling at the way Edison had jumped right in. So the narc zips his pants, and starts creeping away from me and Clark, and just as he's almost past Sully, Sully whips around and gets him in an armhold, and slams him face up against the wall again.

"I didn't hear an apology, little man," he said, that goofy preppy haircut he has making an even starker contrast with his pissed-off tone. (I think we've only been in one bar fight together, a couple of years before I met you, but the way he through that security guard out the window? He's not as preppy as he looks.)

"Sorry," he squeaked, and then Sully let him go. He crept out, and the three of us returned to our stations to finish our business, and were all just zipping up when I heard a stall open and Sam's voice behind us.

"The three fucking Musketeers. Just, try not to get any blood on the floors, please?" He rolled his eyes at us, before bursting into laughter, which set the three of us off. "Never met a lady squint with such ardent defenders. Of course, you let him off too easy. Now I'm going to have to wait to take my shot." We all washed our hands and walked out, only to find the dude leaning up against the wall outside, sweating. His eyes widened as he saw Sam, then yelped as Sam slapped him, hard, upside the head.

Bones, I really love those guys.

/

After we finished our shower (what, you thought I wasn't going to take advantage of your dropping the soap?) I checked my email, and everyone else had responded that they would come, Sam with some crack about the Review Board, and Caroline with a "reply to all" email that her caseload was too heavy, so "you all better damn well show up."

Jack and Ange offered to put your family up, but I guess we can afford stuff like that, so I just called the hotel my parents had stayed at and made reservations for everyone. Except Jared. He can make his own reservation.

Steven called while we were driving, and confirmed he'd be at the train station by 6:30. We got to the store and loaded up on food, then headed to the liquor store.

"What's all the brandy for?"

"Seeley's Knock You on Your Ass Sangria."

"Do you name everything?"

"Pretty much."

/

We had a nice night with Steven and he even talked a little bit about Before, to which you listened solemnly, excusing yourself after an hour when it became clear he really needed to talk about During and After, again. When we were done with that, I cleaned up the beers and he loaded the dishwasher, and we both agreed we needed to make David and Mark talk about it, too.

I brought out some sheets and things, and gave my friend a hug goodnight. I never was a touchy-feely person, but now I'm as handsy as Hodgins. All your fault, I say.

"Night, Sarge."

"Night, Robbins."

"You're a lucky bastard."

"Sure am."

/

Angela and Jack arrived at 11:30, while you and Steven were lugging patio furniture out of the basement and cleaning it off out back. They brought enough food for an army, and I wondered exactly how many people you'd invited. Having divulged to me the secrets of your sangria, I set our own little family to squeezing citrus and chopping fruit to put into the four pitchers I'd found, then poured in the wine and the brandy and put them back in the fridge to sit. You two came back in and made introductions to Steven, who apparently turns out to be a bit of a conspiracy buff. He and Jack set off on some tangent about helicopters as the three of us rolled our eyes, and then I had to swat your hand as I saw you trying to sneak a finger into the pudding in the fridge.

"Booth, behave. That's for company. Yours is in the tupperware in the vegetable drawer."

"Ooh, Bones, there's like a gallon of it! You really love me. Look, can you go grab some of Parks' balls and bats from his room? There are going to be some kids coming and I've got to clean off the tire swing."

"We have a tire swing?"

"Yeah. I'll give you a personal tour later."

"Hornball."

"Seductress."

Ange and I finished putting what seemed like three dozen sides into bowls and I cozened Jack and Steven into setting up one of the tables for food, and getting the beers in a cooler. The three of you boys were now playing with the grill, debating more propane or less, and the proper way to grill a steak. I need to do an anthropological survey of male dominance traits in middle-class American social groups during barbecue season.

/

By the time 12:30 rolled around, the backyard looked like a lawn care commercial, with toys strewn about and all the tables set up and chairs scattered around the yard. And then the doorbell started ringing, and I went to answer it. You'd apparently invited almost everyone who was already coming to the wedding, and then your parents showed up, my family in tow, and everyone had flowers or caramels or dessert or something else to contribute, and I spent the time between doorbells shoving bouquets into vases until there was an even dozen on every surface in the living room. Sweets surprised me by giving me a hug-- I guess he's getting brave now that we're not in therapy anymore-- and Clark brought Amelia, who I'd only talked to before. She seems really fun, and she greeted me with a big hug, shouting "22706!" so I'd know who she was.

"Dispatch, hello, nice to put a face with the voice. I see you're joining the mission to improve relations between the Jeffersonian and the Bureau."

She snickered, and slapped Clark on his rear end, saying "All kinds of relations." Clark's cute when he blushes.

At some point while the flood of people was still coming in through the door, you were bellowing "Bones!" from the back deck.

"At the door!"

"Let Angela answer it, for Christ's sake!"

Ange appeared and took over door duty, and I came out to the back porch, where you grabbed me around the waist and pulled me into your lap. I was a little uncomfortable in front of all these people, so I took refuge in what we do best-- bicker. Okay, second best. Bed and kissing is first. But bickering? Right up there.

"Seeley, would you mind letting me at least finish greeting our guests before you start pawing me in public?"

"Nah. They can introduce themselves."

"Bad host."

"Over-mannered Martha Stewart."

"I don't know who that is. Lout."

"Prissypants."

"Love of my life."

"Yeah, yeah we get it, no, no, Seeley 'love of my life,'" interjected Sam, rolling his eyes. "Where's the beer? I'm going to need more than one if you're going to be like this all afternoon."

/

Parker and Amy's girls and Sam's daughter and Daniel Goodman's girls were engaged in a game of tag that had them weaving all around the grownups, but everyone ignored them in the amused way of people better used to children than I am. Sully and Clark and you were arguing over the sausages and how brown they had to be while Cam and I talked with your mother. Caroline was curious as to how everyone knew each other, so Cam and I were trying to explain who was who and who was with whom, when she got a puzzled look on her face. "So let me get this straight. Camille, you and Seeley were dating, and Timothy and Temperance were dating and now you're dating Timothy?"

Cam flushed at having to define whatever was going on with Sully in public, but then shot me a look and said, "Yes. Kind of weird, but it works for all of us." Caroline just laughed and said, "I thought my sex life was spicy."

I laughed and rejoined, "Caroline's worse than Angela, Shaky, pay her no mind," but your mother got the last word.

"Oh now, Temperance, I told you I preferred auburn hair to brunettes already, stop being so coy and come give me a kiss."

"Ma! What did you say to her?!"

/

"Hey, check out Sweets and Anne over by the tire swing."

"What are they talking about?"

"Squint stuff. For the last half-hour."

"Booth, our little boy is growing up."

"He is. But you're talking to him about the facts of life. He's too scared of me to ask any questions."

/

My father was showing the kids some science trick with a bottle of soda and some candy called Mentos over by the back fence, and when the first bottle sprayed into the air, every man in the place, including you, cried out "Cool!" and ran over to watch him do it again. So much for all the soda we'd bought. Sam demanded that my father show him the trick, and then the two of them were trading bank robbery stories while knocking back more beers, Jared joining them.

Caroline Julian showed up, bearing her "world famous spoonbread," and her sister Jeanne, and they both greeted me with a hearty "Cherie" and a kiss, before Jeanne took me by the arm and said, "Now point me out all the single men."

I laughed. "Basically, the only two are my Dad, the felon, and Booth's brother Jared, the profiteer, who are drinking beer over there in the corner with the deputy director of the FBI."

Caroline snorted. "Strange bedfellows, but you two seem to have a knack for that. Jeanie, let's go crash that all-rooster party."

Henry and Delia had taken over entertaining the kids, and Henry was showing them all some whittling trick involving a scalpel he had in his pocket. I would have laughed at him carrying a scalpel around, but then again, I always have an evidence bag and some gloves in my purse, so to each their own. Rebecca and Brent were actually talking with your parents as Parker sat on your father's shoulders, and it looked like everyone was getting along, which was a relief, since they'd have to see each other at the wedding, at least.

/

We were standing at the corner of the porch, your back to the wall and me leaning against you, as you took turns sucking on my neck and sticking your tongue in my ear as I slapped you.

"Bones, you're not drinking enough Sangria for me to take advantage of you later."

"I'm watching the social dynamics. It's interesting how many people have coupled up since we got together. And you don't need Sangria to get me in bed. Or on the counter. Or in the shower. Or on the living room floor. Although you still haven't shown me that pool table."

Your chest rumbled, and then you said "We're just a giant contagious love machine," before nuzzling my neck again and prompting a few "Get a room!"s from the peanut gallery. "Are you having a good time?"

"I am. Even though all the paper plates and cups we're using up will probably cause the deforestation of Brazil."

"Nah. They're all recycled."

Angela brought out the pudding and Jack and Steven followed with rest of the desserts, then went back into the house. Sully came over and waggled his eyebrows at us. "Pudding. I meant to thank you Tempe, for the recipe."

I smiled, but you leered at him. "How'd it work, Moron?"

"Fabulous. I've made it five times already. I'm going to have to buy a cocoa plantation and an armagnac distillery."

Pretty soon, everyone was groaning over the pudding. Maybe I really should go into catering-- people were making so many moans and groans of delight that the upstairs neighbor opened his window to yell "Knock it off down there!" before slamming his window shut again. Hah. I bet you he moves out by Christmas. Maybe we can line up a contractor to look at his apartment the next time he goes away on a trip. You can pick the lock, right?

People were pretty intoxicated by this point, and the kids were all worn out, lying on blankets under the tree in various stages of sugar comas. It was so nice to see everyone enjoying each other's company, and squabbling like one big family. I guess the bickering's contagious, too. I was enjoying just standing there with your arms around me, when Jack and Angela staggered out with a cooler and opened it to reveal quite a lot of very expensive champagne. I've never seen so many people rush a cooler like that before. If this is any indication of the way everyone drinks, our bar bill for the reception is going to be ridiculous.

Finally, everyone seemed to have gotten a cup of champagne, and Jack came over to hand us our own cups as Angela stood on a chair and clapped until everyone turned to pay attention.

"Okay, you intoxicated squints and drunk cops and blotto robbers, you wasted family, toasted friends, and plastered assorted felons..." she began. "These two never do anything by the book, so I haven't gotten the chance to do all the public squealing and '_I told you so's'_ that I'd been intending to do if there was ever an engagement party. So, here goes. I have been wanting to lock you two in a supply closet for almost four years now, so it's about damned time you put me out of my misery. And locking you in a supply closet probably wouldn't have worked, because Booth would have just jimmied it open, or shot the lock out. Or Bren would have declaimed on the anthropological significance of supply closets in different societies, until the lock opened itself just to escape the lecture-- either that, or she would have karate chopped it. You're really no good at all when it comes to just giving in to peer pressure. But you are really good at being the most sickening couple, the most devoted partners, the most brilliant working team, and the smokingest pair of hotties I've ever known. So bottoms up, everyone, and please join me in a round of '_I told you so's_'!"

"_We told you so_!!" they all yelled, and then catcalled as you turned and dipped me into an "_ooh, wow, can we go inside now, just for a bit_?" kiss. Show-off. And then they swarmed the champagne again. Did you know our family was such a bunch or drunks?

/

Around nine o'clock, and after I'd run some Christmas lights around the yard to shed some light in addition to the candles you'd brought out (Seeley Booth, thirty candles? You hopeless romantic.) your upstairs neighbor opened his window again to yell down "Knock it off, or I'll call the cops!" Everyone roared when you, Sam, Sweets, and Sully exchanged a look, then all pulled out your badges and yelled "We are the cops!" before turning and mooning him. I do hope Sam was drunk enough that he doesn't remember that part-- his wife looked rather annoyed. Your neighbor just slammed the window again. Hah. Maybe he'll be out by Thanksgiving. I didn't know Sweets had a badge, though, and I hope you don't make fun of him for his boring boxer shorts. He's still young-- he'll learn. Maybe we'll buy him some fun socks for Christmas, though I'm not buying him boxer shorts. He'd wonder too much about subtext.

Rebecca and Brent went into the house to see where Parker had gone, and I admit I wasn't paying much attention to what was going on while we swung in the hammock you'd strung up to the tree, and I worked on feeding you the rest of the pudding, but I did notice it had gotten quieter, and there seemed to be a lot of people whispering to each other and coming in and out of the house, but they looked like they were just cleaning up and putting food and the candles and coolers away , so we continued to swing under the twinkle of the Christmas lights. Eventually, people started coming over to us to make their goodbyes, and fortunately at least one half of each couple seemed sober enough to drive, so we just said goodnight and exchanged hugs and kisses and handshakes and goodbyes, and arranged to meet our parents and siblings for lunch after Mass at the hotel restaurant, with Steven, whose train wasn't until three. Rebecca and Brent told us they'd put Parker to bed and left him with us, which was nice because she'd always been kind of strict about the number of nights he spent with you. Finally, it was just the three of us, and Steven bid us goodnight from the already-darkened house as we walked back to the bedroom, after checking on Parker, who was well asleep in his bed.

And then we opened the door to the bedroom.

/

Oh my, Bones. I thought they were all just cleaning up. I swear I closed the bedroom door, but one of the kids must have opened it. I wasn't expecting this.

Every candle we'd lit, and every bouquet people had brought, was lined up on the bureau under Angela's painting, like a church altar, and Angela must have arranged the scrapbook she'd made us in front, opened to a new sketch she must have made tonight of the two of us sitting in the hammock together, foreheads leaning against one another, and then everyone had written something in the pages that followed, sometimes really long things, sometimes really short, but all really heartfelt. They'd all signed with the nicknames and names that we called them, and referenced private jokes that they'd shared with us, or memories they had of us. So we sat on the bed and read everything they'd written, and watched the candles flicker on the painting and the flowers, for I don't know how long.

"We're blessed," you whispered.

"We are," I replied, because there wasn't anything more to say than that.

We fell asleep to the flicker of candlelight and the incredible love of our friends.


	31. Chapter 31

31.

"Bones, put on a pair of tights and some boots."

"It's the middle of October, not December."

"I don't want you to get cold. It's drafty on that platform and you're wearing a skirt."

"Fine."

"Here, put on some extra socks, too, these are cashmere."

"Booth, it's work, not an Arctic Expedition."

"Well, put them in your purse, then, in case you get cold."

"You're a pain in the ass."

"No, I'm your pain in the ass. It's different. Here, take this."

"There's three days' worth of food in there!"

"No, just your morning snacks. I'll bring you some more after lunch."

"Booth!"

- - -

"No one's here yet. It's eight o'clock. Where the hell is everyone?"

"Maybe they're all still hung over. Go, get to work."

"I'm not leaving you alone here."

"Well, you'd better go sit in my office then. I want to look at those remains from Limbo Clark was talking about."

"Fine. Wait. Where's your mask? And your stool?"

"The bones are irradiated, it's fine! And I am sitting on the stool, which you ought very well able to see the way you're constantly fondling my behind."

"You can't be too cautious, Bones, you said it yourself. What if it has some Dark Ages superbug that escaped the radiation?"

"Now you're being absurd."

"I am _not _being absurd!"

"Look, Sully, just like old times." Cam's voice floated in from the doorway.

I turned and smiled. "Good morning. What's shaking, Shaky? Moron, get him out of here, will you? He won't quit breathing down my back."

"Neck, Bones, breathing down your neck."

"Just go, already. Bring me a steak bomb at lunch. Before one. I'm teaching with Daniel today."

"Fine. You want mayo, tomato and pickles?" I nodded, then yelped.

"Booth! This ring does not mean you get to slap my behind in the workplace!"

Cam laughed. "Actually, Grace, he does have the gun."

I turned back to my remains and ignored them all. Hmm. Not Dark Ages, possibly early renaissance, and showing an unusual bone density consistent with...

- - -

"Bones! Hey Bones!"

"In my office," I called.

"I've got a steak bomb, a milkshake, an order of fries, and some pie!"

"And what am I going to eat?"

"Hardy-har-har. That's _your_ lunch. _I'm_ having a double cheeseburger and chips and a milkshake and onion rings. And two pieces of pie,"

"My God, Booth, you brought me half the french fries within a hundred miles." I settled in next to you on the couch as you laid out the food on the coffee table, then turned to call out the door.

"Hey Dumbass, want some fries? Get Anne in here too. Dropout brought me Idaho's net output of potatoes for this month."

Ten minutes later, everyone had drifted in to sit on the sofa and chairs and the floor to eat our lunches and snag each other's french fries and chips, when Daniel Goodman's voice declaimed from the door way,

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Squint Squad and Bureau Brigade, in Dr. Brennan's office, with half the cholesterol in the District."

I smiled up at him. "Daniel, I have no _clue_ what you're talking about." Oh, it's so nice when they laugh at my jokes.

"Shall we go, Temperance?"

"Bones, finish your milkshake."

"I'll take it with me."

"Agent Booth, I will endeavor to ensure that Temperance does, indeed, finish her milkshake. Will that suffice?"

"I suppose."

"Thanks, Agent Poutypants. Here, give me a kiss, I'll see you later."

Daniel escorted me out of the office, but not before Booth called out after us "Make sure she sits!"

"Alpha-male."

"Indeed."

- - -

You could have knocked me over with a pillow (feather, Bones, feather) when we walked into the seminar room and everyone was already there, and then stood and gave me a standing ovation. Daniel made a grand show of helping me to my chair, which I sort of needed, because I wasn't used to people actually liking me and I was feeling a little wobbly, and after I'd finished sniffling, I settled my notes and began.

"Alright, everyone. Thank you. Dr. Goodman's advised me as you what you've covered thus far as to excavation techniques, so I'm passing out photographs of a sequence of excavations I performed in the Sudan several years ago. Please take a moment to review them, then put them in the order you think corresponds to the first through final layers of excavation. We'll be discussing the particular weather conditions displayed in the photographs, and I'd like you to hear discussion of the effect of those conditions upon the speed and the preservation techniques required to prevent the remains from further deterioration. Comments upon the effect of the conditions on the particular types of injuries visible in the photographs is also welcome. Any volunteers to start the discussion?"

There were several looks of blank terror on their faces as I jumped right in. Maybe I _would_ add graduate student back to my diet, after all. I can't believe they didn't finish the reading.

--

Daniel and I were reviewing some of the photographs again after class with two students who had further questions. The class had gone very well, the two of us taking turns leading the discussion, and I was confident that this model of teaching would work very well. I had more time to gauge the students' reactions and level of comprehension while Daniel was speaking, and he did the same, so we were able to draw out several points they seemed to be getting stuck on, which then furthered the discussion thereafter.

A sharp whistle cut in from the doorway. "Bones, why are you standing?"

"Booth, I am leaning against the table, not standing. I'm almost finished." Daniel raised an eyebrow at me and we finished the discussion with the students, who then left, skirting a wide berth around you as you stood in the door tapping your foot.

"Booth, could you please not glower at my students? We want them to be interested in working with law enforcement, not running as fast as they can away from Special Agent Cranky."

Daniel laughed. "Temperance, this was delightful, it worked very well, I think. Shall we have lunch on Thursday to go over next week's class?"

I nodded.

"Lovely. I shall therefore remand you to the care of your persistent and pesky beloved."

"Hah, hah. Did she finish her milkshake?"

"Special Agent Bossy, unless the Bureau wants to put me on retainer, you shall simply have to rely upon other means to ensure that Temperance has consumed adequate sustenance. But for today, yes, she did."

I laughed as you said "He always makes me feel like a five year old. I need to take voice lessons so I can sound more like Darth Vader."

"I don't know what that means."

- - -

You were fussing at me before work the next morning, and I was trying not to yell at you, because you had to attend an all-day committee meeting with Sam, the other SAs, and some higher-ups, and had to leave me to Angela for my first chemotherapy session. I was nervous, too, so I actually put on the extra pair of socks and a long-sleeved shirt under the sweater so bulky it would never fit under my lab coat but that you insisted I wear, and held my tongue as you bought out half the bakery on the way into work for snacks.

We got in at eight again, and again no one else had arrived yet, and you were fussing about how someone should be there because they knew I always came by at eight if we weren't in the field, so you were pacing the floor in my office and waving your hands around yelling-- so I shut the door and pulled the blinds.

"Seeley. Stop pacing." You hadn't heard me. "Booth." Still pacing. "Seeley Michael Booth." No response. Oh, dear. My poor Seeley.

I stepped in front of you, and you were so caught in your own thoughts that you knocked me down. Your head snapped up then, and a look of panic washed over you as I looked up at you from where I'd landed on my rear end on the floor, and then you picked me up and sat on the couch and buried your head in my shoulder as you held me in your lap, breathing raggedly, and shaking.

"Shh. Seeley. I have to start sometime, and it'll be fine. Angela will be with me the whole time and she's going to drive me home and wait with me until you get home, so I won't be alone." I pulled your head away from where you were hiding it in my hair, and ran my fingers across your poor scrunched-up forehead. "Sweetheart. It will be fine. The third time's the charm, right? If you want, we can go out in the garden and you can say some Hail Marys and I'll find a dandelion just for good measure." It was the first time I'd brought that up since it had happened, and your expression changed to one that was hopeful and anguished at the same time. You nodded, so I kissed you, and pulled you up from the couch.

It's not a long walk to the garden, but it goes by several offices on the way out. Angela actually has a lovely view from her office, but the afternoon light was too glaring on my computer and she needed more natural light as an artist than I did, so I took my office instead of hers when we both first started here. I took your hand as we walked out to the lab's doorway onto the garden, and we walked, saying nothing, until I spotted some gone-to-seed dandelions. I bent to pick one and took your hand again as we walked over to the closest bench and sat. I held the flower in my lap while I rubbed circles on your back, until your breathing calmed a little more, and then I pulled your rosary out of your suitjacket's breast pocket where you'd taken to keeping it and put it in the hand I'd been holding.

"Here," I said, laying my head against your shoulder as you took your beads and sat forward, elbows on your knees, and began running them through your hands. We probably sat there for a half hour as you told them over and over through your fingers, your eyes shut as I kept rubbing your back, until you sighed a deep sigh and sat up again.

"Okay?"

"Not really, but yeah." You rested your head on my shoulder, so I took my turn. Closing my eyes, I thought. "_All's well that ends well, right? Please help Booth be okay and Parker and our family and friends, and if I go let there be enough time to say goodbye. That's it, I guess." _I didn't want to ask for more than was provident-- what would happen, would happen, but I wanted to make it as easy for everyone else as I could. Then I blew, and opened my eyes to watch the seeds carry away on my breath and the small breeze that was blowing. I laid my head atop yours as we watched the last of them carry away in the sunlight, and I felt you relax just a little.

"I love you, Bones."

"I love you, Booth."

You pulled my hand forward and we walked back in, slowly, your arm around my waist and mine around yours. I don't know who was supporting whom more, but it was time to get back to work, and not let this take things over. Cam and Sully, Jack and Angela, and Clark and Anne were all in by the time we'd returned, but they politely ignored us as we walked back to my office so I could shut the door and give you another hug before I sent you on your way.

"You'll call me as soon as you're done?"

"Promise."

We had the most perfect sad hopeful kiss ever, and I smoothed your forehead one more time.

"See you later."

You nodded, set your jaw, and headed out into the world. I smoothed back my hair, put on my lab coat, and did the same. "Anne, let's look at that 14th century skeleton, I'd like to show you an interesting bone density pattern you don't often see..."

It went fine, really, it did. Delia was there because it was the first time, and she explained what all the drugs were, and how she'd added the dexamethasone as a precautionary measure against vomiting, and then she checked the lines once they went in and left Ange and I alone in the curtained-off area each patient got.

Ange brought up the issue of clothes; you two had talked about it, and she offered to just take my measurements when we got home so she could have my dress altered and go shopping for me.

"Thanks, Ange. I think that would be best. I just don't have the energy for it-- I want to concentrate on work." We tied up all the remaining loose ends of the wedding, including a surprise I think you'll really like, discussed where to have the rehearsal dinner, and then made some chit chat about the lab. She started working on a sketch for something, so I read the most recent back issue of my favorite journal, and the three hours passed very quickly. The nurses came back, and removed the IVs, and brought me some tomato juice and crackers that I had to eat before we could go. I felt fine, really, I did. After we got into the car, I pulled out my phone.

"Bones."

"Hi, we're just headed home now."

"You okay?" I could hear voices in the background.

"I'm fine. Are you still in your meeting?"

"On break. We have another hour, probably."

"Well, we'll see you when you get home, no need to rush. Love you."

"Love you."

Angela had that intense look she got when she was in the midst of a painting coming together, so after we checked my measurements, I made us some tea and sat in the armchair, updating this, as her hands flew across her pad, page after page after page. "Thanks, Bren," she muttered, as I put out a plate of those caramel marshmallow cookies (I like those things, we need to buy more), eating them absently as she filled more pages. I turned back to my typing until I heard her pencil stop, and looked up.

"Fit of creativity satisfied?" She smiled, and finished the cookies.

"Mmmph. These are good." We talked some more then about the party. Apparently she'd gotten a picture of the four FBI moons rising, and was planning something evil with it.

"Ange, just don't do anything that would get Sam Cullen in trouble, okay?" She laughed, and you came in just then, Thai food in hand, a look of relief passing over your face as you confirmed that I was, in fact, still here.

Ange gathered her things, said "Gotta go while the Muse is still calling," and gave us the family salute before heading out the door.

- - -

You were slightly less terrified the next morning, and so was I, so we only spent fifteen minutes out in the garden, me repeating my wish, your repeating your worrying of your rosary, and holding my hand somewhat less crushingly on the way back in. Everyone gave us our space again until we went our separate ways from my office, and Angela gave you a peck on the cheek as you left that brightened your face a little.

My father arrived in plenty of time to call you from my office phone and assure you that he was there before we headed out. You two hung up with your little salute to one another.

"Never have, never will."

"Never again."

I called you afterward, again from the car, and my Dad and I played snap and went through my box of photos until you came home, Mexican in hand, and that same "_she's still here_" look on your face. Dad got up and patted you on the shoulder, saying "See you next week, boy," and left.

- - -

Both nights, we made love with the lights on, so you could inspect every part of me with your eyes and your mouth, and I tried to caress every inch of your skin, so you could be certain I was still here, and both nights, we cried a little, and then made love again until we smiled a little, and then a third time, for good measure, and fell asleep, intertwined, like the painting.

- - -

Thursday morning we went straight to the garden, the third day of what would thereafter be our chemo-day ritual. I hoped that the seeds I'd blown would plant themselves and bloom through at least this first round of treatment, so I'd have plenty to wish upon. We walked back to my office, you more relaxed because you got to take me yourself this afternoon.

"We're going to have to take some of my stuff down off the walls to find room for this," you said, after we took in what was leaning up against the couch.

It was called "Two," and she must have stayed up all night Tuesday painting it in order for it to be dry by this morning. It was again life size, with the same abstract figures, clearly us, viewed from the back and seated on a barely-sketched in bench. The only defined figures were ours, our heads resting on one anothers', our outlines thick and firm with what must have been layers of paint. She must have seen us sitting out in the garden that morning, because there was a pale blue wash of background, the color the sky had been as we'd sat there. There were faintly traced dandelion spores and rosary beads painted under the final wash of blue, so that they were only suggestions, not distinct or distracting icons. Again, the light in the two figures, blended together, different and yet the same, was the brightest thing in the painting, though the mood this time was not joy and sorrow-- but hope and uncertainty.

"We'll come back and get it after we get done and get something to eat, okay?"

You nodded, and pulled me into a kiss, my arms twining about your neck. I laid my hands along your face, and asked you, because I wasn't sure, "You don't mind it?"

You shook your head vigorously, and rested your forehead against mine. "No. It's almost like, well, witnessing, in the religious sense of the word. She gets it."

"She does." I gave you a final kiss, and said "See you at one," and you straightened your tie and ventured out again, your shoulders straighter than they'd been all week.

Cam ducked her head in as soon as your steps had receded, then stopped.

"Wow."

I smiled. "I know."

"Fast friends in uncertain times."

"Absolutely." I changed the subject then. "Come in, help me move this, will you?"

We lifted it, and propped it on the wall across from my desk so I could look at it during the day.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, as we stood in front of the painting. Touching my arm, Cam smiled, a sweet and open and uncertain smile, and then gave me a hug.

"Eventually," she whispered.

"Oh, Cam, really? I'm so glad!"

She gave me a wry grin, and said, "It's all your fault. Or your pudding. How could I let go of someone spending all that money on chocolate for me?"

We talked a little more, and when she left, I went over to Angela's office. She was working at her computer, her back to me, then looked up as I said, "Just how much wallspace am I going to have to invest in?"

"You don't mind?" I walked in and sat on her couch.

"Of course not. They're beautiful, amazing, breathtaking. True."

"I worried it might be too private, but at the same time, I..."

"Ange. They're wonderful reminders. We both look at 'One' every night. You're so amazingly gifted."

"I just paint what I see," she replied, sitting down next to me and leaning her head on my shoulder.

"You see more in one moment than most people see in a lifetime." She shook her head.

"Bren, what I put there is what everyone sees. It's impossible not to. I'm just making a record. That's all." I squeezed her hand.

"Well, just don't paint faster than I can put all his awful sports memorabilia away." She laughed, then, and I gave her a hug. "Back to work, now, and no staying up all night more than one week at a time."

She smiled, and saluted. "Yes, Dr. Brennan."

When Daniel brought lunch by my office to go over next week's class, he stopped halfway inside the door.

"Good Lord."

I looked up, and saw he was gazing at "Two."

"It's amazing she works here at all when she paints things like that," I said.

He shook his head. "She wouldn't have things like that to paint if she didn't work here."

- - -

Henry stopped by about an hour and a half through this time, to see how we were doing. We'd been sitting there, holding hands, while I reviewed my seminar's papers and you flipped through another draft policy manual Sam had asked you to comment upon, when he came in behind us. We both felt eyes on our backs, though friendly, and turned at the same time, both saying, "Hey, Henry." He blinked.

"I always feel like I'm interrupting something with you two," he said.

You smiled, and said, "Well, you are, but so is everyone. It's no big deal." Poor Henry-- he wasn't expecting that answer, but it was true. We were always talking together or sitting together or just being together, even across a crime scene with a body between us. He blew out a breath, and I nodded to the footstool I wasn't using, disengaging my hand from yours so Henry wouldn't be quite so uncomfortable.

"Pull up a seat."

"I just wanted to see how you're feeling, how work's gone this week."

"We're okay. Work's been slow, I've been catching up on 1200 year old bodies, and..."

"I've been catching up on 1200 piles of paperwork."

"I've been feeling fine, actually, not even that tired, sleeping well, and my ..."

"Appetite's fine, she's been eating well, and she's even put on five pounds."

He was watching us both as we did what we'd done to Sam Cullen and Sweets and so many others, and I felt badly, but it really wasn't anything we could help. It just happened. Sort of like us.

"Someone ought to do a study on you two."

You snorted, thinking of Sweets' failed attempt to write a book on our partnership. He'd recently sent us the draft of incomplete chapters, with a note saying "_Fine, I'll admit it, you defy description. Now you have to help me find something else to write about_."

Shaking your head and shooting him the "_manly men can still share a Charm Smile_" smile, you replied. "It's been tried already. Didn't work. We've been told we defy description." Henry just shook his head, then changed the topic.

"We had a great time Saturday. Thanks so much for having us over. Your families are a hoot." That got the conversation on to more comfortable ground, and we teased him a bit about Delia, but not too much. And then the timer rang, and he took out the IVs himself, and sent us on our way.

"Diner?"

"I'm starving."

- - -

When we got home, and had hung "Two" over the television, you reached for me, pulling the throw from the couch onto the floor. As we took turns divesting the other of clothing, you murmured, shakily, "three down, seven weeks, and twenty-one more to go," and then we took turns making sure the other was still here.

- - -

The next morning, we were sitting at the island eating breakfast, looking at "Two" when your phone buzzed.

"Booth." You listened, your face shifting. "Four? Okay, we're already up, send her the address? How about Edison and Sully? Alright. Thanks."

You got up, gulped your coffee. "So much for the day off, damned murderers didn't get the memo on our schedule. Four bodies. In a drained septic tank that was sealed over. Sam's already got the other two on their way with the van."

"Good. Let's go. I'll let Clark start and see how he does."

- - -

Clark did fine, though he kept looking back up at me while I took photographs and bagged the evidence he'd tentatively offered me as he made his examination. "Stretch. You're doing great," I said, "really." He broke out in a smile, and turned back to his examination. When he was done, we bagged the remains together, and I asked him to give the primary opinion for the responding officers.

"I fully concur with Dr. Edison, and would add only that though the bodies appear to be more than a year old, the layers of contradictory types of soil and clay present at the excavation site and beneath the bodies seem to have been more recently disturbed. It's possible that this was not the original disposal site, but Dr. Edison has already done a thorough sampling of the surrounding soils and containers, so we will be able to narrow it further once our particulates specialist has had an opportunity to review the samples." The officers nodded, took notes, and walked off, and I walked with Clark back to the van to change.

"Thanks, Teach."

"You did great. The important thing with these responding officers is to give them just enough information to scare them out of trying to hold on to it, but not so much that their District Attorney smells glory and tries to yank it back. Here, I can tell looking at the soils present I that there is some highly specialized clay that Dr. Prissy's going to go wild over. That's something I wouldn't necessarily tell them outright, I'd just make noises about 'complicated and contradictory samples.'" He shook his head.

"Yeah, that's the hard part, that political stuff. I never have to do that with the defense work, I just get everything after it's already been worked up."

We were pulling out of our suits, Clark being careful to put his own things in decontam, and scrubbing his hands, before we walked back over to you boys, you quirking your eyebrow in the '_what were you two talking about over there_' look.

"I was just telling Clark how to both scare off and butter up the local boys so we can hang on to the case."

Clark shook his head. "Yeah, T., but no way I caught that all clay stuff."

You barked a laugh. "Well, when you've listened to Hodgins babble on about diatemaceous earth and clay-bearing subsoils for four years, you can kick yourself in the pants then."

"That's right," I added. "The important thing is to just have good technique in gathering potentially useful evidence. Your sampling is excellent, and your examination was perfect."

Clark beamed, but shot us a sly smile as he said, "Thanks Mom, Thanks Dad."

I just shook my head. "Kids today. No respect."

Sully laughed, and said, "Edison, stop sassing the old folks."

"Hey!!"

- - -

You and Edison geeked out over the bodies for the rest of the afternoon, while Sully and I put Charlie on speakerphone in your office and teleconferenced the database review on our new laptops. I'm glad Cullen didn't fight too much about giving those to Sully and me; I'd been fighting to get one for years, but he knew now I had to have one for working here at the lab and at home. When I looked back up, you'd pulled Anne up to start squinting, too, directing her to different things you wanted to see from your stool, like you were Queen of the Lab. Of course, you are. You're a really good teacher, Bones. You ask questions that lead them to the answer through all the steps they need to know, and you don't lecture. Edison's going to be great, but you were right to pump him up at the scene like that. He just needs a little experience and some confirmation that he knows what he's doing.

There weren't many teeth for dentals, though Anne took the x-rays she'd over to the Hoover for Charlie just in case. (Doesn't Sweets have office hours on Friday afternoons? She could have just scanned and emailed the films.) Cam swabbed for DNA, Jack practically fainted with joy over the "differentiated clay-bearing subsoils!", and Ange confirmed that the skulls were too bashed in to pull faces without some major reconstruction by Edison, or Anne, or you.

Sully and I were coming up with nothing much, so I decided we'd wait to see on the dentals or DNA. This wasn't going to get going again until Monday, so at 4:30, I quirked an eyebrow at Sully, and he grinned. "Quittin' time and quality time with the ladies," he smiled. "You guys want to go to O'Reilly's? You know she's going to make you take her sometime, we might as well go."

"Might as well. At least now everyone knows we're engaged, so I won't have to shoot so many people trying to buy her drinks."

We both shut down, and I came out to the platform. "Bones! That skull isn't going to glue itself together, I know, but you've been in eight hours today and it's time to go!"

You shot me a look. "I'm fine. Just another twenty minutes."

"No, Bones, eight hours is eight hours, let's go."

Clark glanced between us, and said to the air, "I hate it when Mom and Dad fight."

Jack laughed, as I strode up the platform to grab you around the waist, and murmured to you in my best seductive '_let's get out of here so I can show you something really squinty_' voice. "C'mon, Bones, I've got a special evening planned. An opportunity for you to observe a distinct and self-isolating social group in a specialized milieu, under observing conditions rarely available to the outsider. Much more interesting than skulls."

Your eyebrows raised in excitement, and your voice did, too. "We're going to O'Reilly's?"

Cam and Sully came out of her office, Cam calling "Shaky, let's go! We've got at least ten lady cops to drink under the table!"

Sully smiled, then said "Dumbass, you coming? Call Dispatch, tell her to meet us there. How about you and Angela, Prissy?"

Jack smiled. "Thanks for the invite, but we've got plans tonight. Maybe next week? Although I don't have a cop better half to ensure me entrance."

I laughed. "Bro, anyone tries to say you don't belong there, I'll shoot them."

"Hey, thanks, bro."

"Anytime. Now come on, Bones, we have a highly developed subculture to squint at."

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

"Knock it off!" shouted the other three.

- - -

I hadn't been in O'Reilly's for a while, maybe almost a year, but when Billy looked up from the bar to see the five of us walk in, he put down the glass he was polishing and came out to say hello.

"Boothy, my boy! And Timothy, and Clark, and the lovely Dr. Saroyan, of course, so good to see you all again. Boothy, is this the lovely, esteemed Dr. Brennan, whom you've been shielding from all my loutish patrons and my charming attentions all of these years?"

You shot him a "_You are the cutest little old Irish bartender I have ever seen and you're going to send us free drinks all night, aren't you," _Charm Smile, and took his arm.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, sir. You're Mr. O'Reilly? It's such a pleasure to meet you. What a beautiful example of a Trinity College establishment from the late nineteenth century. Am I correct that the silvered mirror over the bar is an antique, from the glassworks at…"

Oh, Bones, where did you get that blarney? You got him going, alright. Soon he was telling you about how it was the family bar in Dublin, and how they'd lost their lease in the 60s, when he'd wanted to move to America anyway, so he "tore down the whole place, lock, bar, and barrel," and shipped it on a steamer to D.C., where it sat at the shipyard for a month before he found "the perfect place in which to install an establishment dedicated to the inebriation of this proud nation's finest." Billy walked us back to the pride-of-place booth at the back, as you told him Amelia and maybe some others were joining us, and he threw out the guys from White Collar out who'd taken up residence. They'd grumbled, but Billy shot them a look, and said, "The lovely Dr. Brennan and the Future Mr. Dr. Brennan need a seat, boys, so scram," and Sully gave them his Preppy Death Glare, so they scrammed.

"Mr. Dr. Brennan, hmm? I think I like that," you said, as Billy headed back to the bar, then returned, a bottle and glasses in hand. Turning your attention back to him, who I'd shoot for the way he was looking at you, except I know he's perfectly harmless, you said,

"Oh, Mr. O'Reilly! Twenty year Tyrconnell _uisce beatha_! That was one of my favorites to warm up with after a long day of digging at the _crannóg_ near Dookinella!" Billy just melted, and Cam leant over toward me to say "We'll never have to pay again, as long as she's with us."

Billy sat with us for another twenty minutes as you charmed the bartenders' apron off him, until they were five deep at the bar and even he couldn't ignore the calls for "Beer, Billy, beer!"

Amelia and Sweets and Anne showed up, and Billy waved them to our table. It's really the best place in the bar—unobstructed views of all corners, a heavy signed baseball bat and some shelaighlies on the wall overhead in case a fight breaks out (you draw once, unprovoked, in Billy's bar and you'll never set foot in there again). Sweets jumped a little when I clapped him on the shoulder with an open hand, but he relaxed after you got that third shot into him after challenging him to a "scientific inquiry into the rapidity with which peat-smoked whiskey can intoxicate one on an empty stomach," your eyes twinkling across the table as you proceeded to drink him under the table. Anne didn't seem to mind when he put his arm around her, though. Liquid courage, eh, Bones?

Then Billy brought over a bottle of thirty-year Connemara, just as we'd finished the Tyrconell, and you made him sit while you sent Sully and me to pour beers for twenty minutes, during which time you wheedled the story of his Rita out of him, and then sang him the more traditional version of "Danny Boy" to him to make him feel better when he started crying. The whole place fell quiet as you started singing to him in your sweet voice, and patting his old hand, and guys I've seen give worse beatdowns to perps than me on a bad day were wiping tears from their eyes.

You're really something, you know that?

- - -

I was a little worried when the lady coroners from D.C. and Raleigh came over, along with the Alexandria sheriff—those three women can drink me under the table on a good day. A challenge in their eyes, and three bottles of Jameson in their hands, you invited them to sit as Camille, Amelia and Anne pushed Clark, Sweets, Sully and me out of the booth. I think every man in the bar got a hard-on when you stood up to call for four more bottles, "and real glasses, Mr. O'Reilly, none of these thimbles you've been serving the boys all night!" Cops love a woman who can hold her whiskey even more than a woman who can't. Billy smiled like the sun, and got out a stool, as he shot a glance round the bar, then got up to get something. Ooooh, Bones, the Waterford tumblers. He never gets out the Waterford tumblers. He put them all on a tray with the bottles you'd called for, after wiping them down, and carried them over to the table, the room once again fallen silent. "Now ladies, I'll let you have these on one condition, and that's that the lovely Temperance here treats us to another tune or three before she goes home."

"Done, Billy, you rascal" you said, standing up to give him a kiss on the cheek. The four of us repaired to the bar to watch the carnage ensue. We'd never really drunk together before—there was that scotch in my office after that intern was killed, but I think you were maybe pretending a little so I'd feel better—and then that time with Hodgins and Angela, but we both had reasons to be stone-cold sober that night, so I wasn't sure what was going to happen.

"Is this going to be ugly, or incredibly hot?" murmured Sully, as we leaned back against the bar.

"No idea, man. Either way, I can't believe we didn't have to pay money to see this."

Clark smiled, and said, "Bet you all lunch for the next three Fridays that T. drinks them all under the table."

Sully and I refused to take the bet, but Sweets, who was feeling it pretty well by then anyway, smiled that goofy twelve-year old smile he gets, and said "You're on, Edison. Dr. Brennan is a very abstent- absent- abstaining personality. I highly doubt she will be able to consume the amount of liquor that's been pace- placed in front of her. _And_ I bet it will be hot."

"Sweets…"

"Um, that's not what I meant, Agent Booth, I meant to say I bet it will be not . . . not. . . um. . . ."

Uh-huh. I shot him a '_don't think I've completely forgotten about that experiment bit_,' and he shrank a little, but I poured us all another shot as we turned to watch, the best view in the bar from where we were standing.

Clark, a twinkle in his eye, repeated, "My money's on T."

An hour later, Billy'd managed to peel those three women out of the booth and pour them into cabs, as you and Cam got up on the table to lead the bar in a round of "_Danny Boy_," the bar falling silent as you sang the last verse, and then "_The Whiskey Jar_," which is always fun, and "_The Holy Ground_," when they again fell silent and sniffled when you sang the last verse again, and then the bawdiest version of "_Seven Drunken Nights_" I've ever heard. I've only heard those sixth and seventh verses once, and never that version of the last line, ""_Well, it's many a day I've traveled a hundred miles or more, but an Englishman who can last 'til three, I've never seen before._" And then you paused, and gave me an evil sexy look, before you added a new line, "_But a Special Agent Booth, he can go twelve hours or more_!"

I turned bright red, but every guy in the place was looking at you in awe, and then over at me in complete envy, so I just took a bow, as Sully and Clark and Sweets burst into applause and the crowd burst into a roar. The D.C. chief made you teach the rest of the crowd those last two verses again, and then you gave me the "_this has been fun but it's time to go home look_," and jumped down off the table, landing square on your feet.

"Gentlemen, it's been lovely," you said, "but I have some twelve hours or more to go collect," and then you laced your arm through mine and dragged me out of the bar.

There was a roar of "Oh!!" and a repeat of "_But a Special Agent Booth_…" as the door shut behind us.

"Bones, what the hell was that? I mean, I don't mind your … um …"

"Affirming your alpha-male prowess in front of a bar full of cops?"

"Bones!"

"I wrote a paper on the cultural significance of Irish drinking songs in pub culture as part of my studies in Ireland one year. I had to do lots and lots of research. Whiskey's like water to me."

- - -

As I'd hoped you would, you pinned me to the door as soon as you'd locked it, one hand making your way up under my skirt as you pulled down my blouse and squeezed and fondled my breasts. "Twelve hours or more, huh, Bones?"

Your upstairs neighbor will be out by Halloween.


	32. Chapter 32

32.

I would have made it to ten hours if you hadn't said "fuel injected V8 engine" at just the wrong time.

- - -

We went to go see Zack early the next day, just the two of us. I'd been avoiding going back with you, though I'd gone to keep you company beforehand, and helped with the transfer and all of that. The kid was family to you, no matter how mad I was—I had to help you.

I never went in to the room with you, though, and you never pressed me. Poor Zack seemed to have finally gained some measure of understanding when I'd greet him hello and goodbye, giving me a hunted half-smile I'd seen on a lot of guys who'd cracked, and knew it, and then I'd go out to sit in the hallway and read until the hour was up. That smile, of course, was the problem, because before, if I'd been paying attention, I'd have seen that he was totally flat, without any expression at all.

You've heard the military phrase "walking wounded," right? Well, there's another, completely unofficial term, that guys who have been to the edge know applies to the ones who go over, but just don't know it yet—"Dead man walking." Their eyes are dead, or their light is hiding so deep in them they might as well be, their expressions, flat. I'd seen it plenty of times before, and never did anything about it, because I knew I had teetered on that edge too many times myself, and it scared the shit out of me to think that trying to help them might send me over.

They call it PTSD, now, and can theoretically help with it, but like I said before, they're not exactly in the therapy business, so it's go to be really extreme before they do something like discharge you. That alone should have set off warning bells in my head when they'd sent Zack back, but I pretended that it was different because he was a squint. I was foolish—they'll use up whatever they've got, civilian, squint, or otherwise, unless it's a real danger. Thinking about it now, I realized I'd avoided him because I didn't want to remember how walking wounded I was. Was, Bones, operative term there. Much less, now, thanks to you.

I know whatever had happened to him wasn't my fault, and that when he came home he was already so broken that it's impossible to know if anyone could have helped him, but maybe is an important word, and if I hadn't been so afraid of myself, I'd have acknowledged what was going on, and maybe we could have done something more for him.

All of that was in the back of my mind as we got to the sunroom, and instead of just saying hello from the doorway, I came into the room with you and sat down.

Bones, I don't know if it's worse to be broken, or to know it, too. He knows it, now, and as smart as he is, he now has all the time in the world to think about how he should have known it before. Except that logic is flawed, too. When you're in the middle of it, you have no perspective.

It wasn't easy, and I mostly stuck to nods and tacking on information to things you'd already told him, but since Steven and I had talked, I thought I could look Zack in the eye, so I did, and gave him what I hoped was a smile. His mouth quirked in acknowledgement of my attempt. And then you had to get up to use the bathroom, complaining about the second glass of milk I'd made you drink, and I nodded in response to your '_are you okay if I leave you here with him_' look, and then the two of us were along.

"Dr. Brennan looks . . . thin," he started.

"She is, but she's put a little back on—we're working on it."

"She had no ill effects from the first week of treatment?"

"Thankfully, no."

"She is lucky to have you to support her through this, Agent Booth."

Well, that runs both ways, Bones. "You know, Zack, you've known me how long now? You could just call me Booth." He blinked, totally confused, and looking like a lost child. That expression—it finally dawned on me, how would I deal with it if, God forbid, it was Parker? And then I knew.

Sitting forward in my seat, I looked him in the eye. "In the first Gulf War, Zack, my unit was sent to Kuwait…"

It wasn't going to cure him, but there's truth in the phrase 'misery loves company,' not in the sense of contagious depression, but the spark of relief that you feel when you know for the first time that you're not the only person who's that crazy. It doesn't always lift the weight, but it can sometimes chip it away, an ounce at a time.

I noticed when you came back in, of course, never hesitating as you came back to sit beside me, and placing your hand on my back as I kept talking. When the guard came to say it was time, I put my open hand on his shoulder, and gave him a pat, then said "I can finish next time."

His eyes cleared a little, and he replied. "Thanks . . . Booth."

- - -

On the way out in the car, your hand on my knee, I thought some more about all the chances for maybes that had been lost, not just by me, but by all of us, and by their willful blindness.

"You know, Bones? That idea you had? I know a few people to call who might help get the ball rolling." You nodded, accepting, as you always do.

- - -

We pulled up to Hodgins Manor around eleven. (No way am I calling it Hodgela. People just do not need to name their houses, even if it's ridiculous mess of buildings like his palace. And Hodgela sounds like one of those names those Brennanites make up on those message boards about all your book characters' relationships, so it's doubly stupid.) I still needed to buy a tux and Ange called to say that the seamstress had already finished alterations and that you needed to come try it on. I saw you into the house, but Hodgins was waiting, clearly eager to get going, so I satisfied myself with giving you a "_damn, woman I love you_" kiss.

"Want to take your car or one of mine?" he said, shooting me a grin. I knew he had a garage the size of my house, so I restrained myself from jumping up and down like Parker at an ice cream store, and merely returned the smile.

"Let's see what you've got."

- - -

Bones, I really want a '67 Mustang. Really. You know someone's a good friend when he lets you drive his mint condition black 'Stang, with extra chrome.

- - -

Hodgins' guy was a little old Italian man named Vincenzo, impeccably dressed in some slacks, a houndstooth blazer, a beautiful shirt and a cravat (you think I could pull that off? Probably not, Sam would kill me. Or call me Special Agent Fancypants.), set up in a tiny little storefront not too far from the lab. He made us some espresso while we sat for a few minutes, talking about what was needed. It wasn't some snooty-tooty shop with nine million obsequious salesmen. But his eyes lit up when I took my coat off, in a totally manly but appreciative manner, and said, "This is going to be such fun," as he pulled us into a back room that was floor to ceiling fabric. I couldn't help myself as I took in all the shirt fabrics. You know I like nice things.

"Ooooh, Egyptian Cotton _and_ Pima _and_ Lisle. And is that a camel-cashmere blend over there?"

Hodgins just laughed. "Peacock."

"Nothing wrong with taking pride in presenting a professional appearance."

"Pretty boy."

"Shut up." And then Vincenzo came over with a bolt of the nicest silk-cashmere wool I'd ever seen, so I ignored him. "That's beautiful, Vincenzo, but maybe a little heavy for inside, do you have something like that but in a lighter weave?" He nodded, and patted me on the cheek as he saw I knew my stuff, and hustled off.

An hour and a half later, we finished up, and he promised me the tux and shirt and other things for the wedding would be ready Wednesday morning.

"That's awfully fast, Vincenzo," I said.

"For you, Mr. Booth, nothing but the best. I don't get a chance to dress someone like you that often." He shook hands, then hoofed it back to his storeroom, calling "Angelo! Carlo! Get me my scissors!"

Hodgins just laughed. "Dude, you ordered four suits, a new coat, and a dozen shirts. You think he's going to not get you a tux in time for the wedding?" What can I say? I like nice things. You think your bras are expensive-- those shirts are going to cost me a mint, but there's nothing like smooth, well-fitting cotton and a well-tailored pair of pants when you're scaling a fence. But I couldn't let it go. I mean, it's Hodgins. I love the guy, but I _am_ the alpha-male around here.

"Right. Because 16 of the same merino-cashmere sweaters in different colors, and handmade chinos? Not indulgent at all."

"Hey!"

- - -

Vincenzo insisted we go two doors down to his sister's trattoria for lunch. "She's making carbonara today, and it will make you cry tears of joy, Mr. Booth," he said. Who am I to pass up pasta _and_ bacon?

Anamaria was as little and old as her brother, her place as tiny as his shop, too, but oh, it smelled so good. She was standing behind the register when we came in, and a few people were sitting at tables, intent on their food.

"Jack! My darling! It's been _weeks_ since I saw you! And where is your lovely bride?" she said, coming over and pinching his cheek. "Who is your handsome friend?"

"Anamaria, this is Seeley Booth-- Vincenzo said we needed to come over because you were making carbonara today. Angela and Booth's fiancee are hanging out today."

She smiled, and said "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Booth. You two have a seat, I'll bring you some starters."

Bones, this lady's like Sid. (God, I miss him. But you don't just get asked to open a place in Paris and say no...) She knew exactly what we wanted, and brought out plate after plate of food until even _I_ thought I was going to burst. You have got to come back with me-- the vegetable antipasto was amazing, and I normally _hate_ eggplant. And the carbonara? Well, it's not your mac and cheese, but it's right up there. And she has this pine nut torta, with some kind of mascarpone custard, in a pie shell? Oooh.

"How was your meal?" she asked, coming over.

"Anamaria, that was incredible. I have to bring my fiancee back here. She's going to love that antipasto."

"How did you like the carbonara?" She was so sweet, I wanted to tell her it was the best thing I'd ever eaten, but I've got to be honest.

I gave her the "_you're a sweet lady and I want to come back here and eat lots more of your food_" Charm Smile, and said "It was wonderful, thank you, but my fiancee's mac and cheese? I've got to admit hers is just a tiny bit better."

She laughed, and broke out in a smile that made me wonder what she looked like when she was younger-- she was beautiful now. "Well, then, you'll gave to bring her back, and I'll give her the recipe."

- - -

While you were off with Jack, Ange brought me up to a bedroom on the other side of the house from where theirs was. It was a gorgeous room, not opulent, but still beautifully decorated, full of comfortable chairs, a full-length mirror and bureau, a king-sized bed, and an ensuite bath with a bathtub twice the size of yours. "The seamstress will be here in a few minutes and I had her make up some other things for you. Jenkins will bring her up."

"This is a beautiful room, Angela," I said, sitting down in one of the armchairs.

She smiled. "It's the official Booth-Brennan suite here at Hodgela. That way you two can crash here anytime, and have mad passionate sex without your boy getting embarrassed at being overheard. We figured you kids could stay the night before and night after the wedding and have some hot before and after sex. We're literally a half a mile away from you."

"Don't you get lost in here?"

She laughed. "All the time. I just carry my phone with me all the time so I can call him and make him come get me. We only really use the other side of the house, since that's where the kitchen and living room and my studio are, but we are about two thirds of the way through christening the rest of the house. Not this room, of course, but the ballroom? That was fun. All those mirrors..."

"Angela!"

"Sweetie. Like you two aren't even worse."

"Ange. We at least keep it at home. Don't think I didn't hear about that security tape."

"Oh, give it time, sweetie, give it time. The decontam shower? Totally hot."

"Ange!"

Just then, the seamstress arrived, carrying the bag the gown had come in over her arms, Jack's caretaker Jenkins lugging what looked like six duffel bags behind her. "What's all that?"

"Just some clothes until you get fat again."

My eyes started watering. "Oh, Ange, you're such a good friend."

"I am, but don't start crying on me, okay? That's my job. Let's get this fitting over with, and then we can have a nice talk, okay?"

Jenkins set down the bags on the bed, and I thanked him. "My pleasure, Dr. Brennan."

"Oh, Jenkins, please call me Temperance, or Bren, or Brennan. Dr. Brennan's too formal." He smiled, and said, "Good luck with your fitting, Temperance."

I went in to the bathroom to put on the bra I'd be wearing, to make sure all the straps lay out of sight under the dress, then came out, my arms wrapped around my chest as I saw all over again in the mirror how much weight I'd lost.

"Oh, honey," said Angela, coming over to hug me. "You're still the most beautiful woman I know. Come here, let's try the dress on."

Natalia had gotten out a stool, and was standing with the dress ready, an encouraging smile on her face. "Come, lovie, let's see how this looks."

She dropped it over my head, and zipped up the side. It still looked perfect from the front.

"You even took the sleeves in," I marveled.

"Of course," she said. "The dress must be stunning, to match the lady who wears it."

She turned me to stand in front of the mirror, then came around in front of me to tug at the sleeves, the seams in the front, and the neckline. "Now turn," she ordered. I did, and was at least glad to find that my ribs and spine weren't showing the same way as my ribs were in front. I could notice the difference, but I think only you, me, and Angela would.

"This is such a beautiful line on you," she said. "Normally, I would consider such a back daring, but on you? It is perfect."

"He has a fondness for her lower back," said Angela, "although once he sees this I'm not sure you'll make it all the way through the ceremony."

"That's what the veil is for, no? Here, let us try it."

I'd left my hair loose and curly, and she had me bend forward as she pulled the hair back from my face and set the combs holding the veil in place. When I looked up, I couldn't believe it all over again. "Oh, Ange. Natalia, thank you, it's perfect. You did a beautiful job on such short notice."

She patted my hand, then said, "Let's try the other things that I brought."

Seeley, Ange really outdid herself. She'd gotten me five pantsuits, "just in case you have to go to court everyday for a week," and more of the velvet jackets and frill collared blouses I liked, as well as several lined pairs of trousers, all of which fit perfectly.

"Natalia made them lined, so it's warmer, you've been cold all week. Here, try these turtlenecks on."

"Ange! These are cashmere! You're spoiling me!"

"Bren. They are warm, and we can't have the world's top forensic anthropologist catching a cold, now, can we?"

She'd gone whole pig. (Whole hog, Bones, whole hog.) There were jeans cut slim but not skintight, and wrap sweaters in boiled wool, and more long-sleeved shirts and tops, and some khakis and knit pants and skirt suits, all of which were cut so that if I lost more weight, they wouldn't float too much on me. They were all in the cuts and the colors I favored, and I was getting increasingly weepy as I tried each outfit on.

"You have to let me pay you back."

Ange shook her head. "No way. But after that barbecue, we'll let you pay for the bar bill. That's going to be way more than what these cost."

I changed into one of the more casual outfits she'd got me, a tweed jacket and cashmere turtleneck with some soft moleskin pants-- they fit so much better than the sweater and jeans I'd put on, which were new just three months before. The new clothes were so soft, and so much warmer, that I felt like I was wearing a hug. Turning, I said, "Natalia, these are wonderful. Would you please leave me your card? I will definitely want to have some more things made in the future."

She pulled a card from her dress pocket, and gave it to me, patting my hand. "You're a beautiful girl, my dear. I will look forward to dressing you more in the future." And then she was gone, like a clothes fairy.

"C'mon, Bren, let's go downstairs to the solarium and have some lunch. It's nice and sunny and warm in there." Tugging my hand, she showed me the way down a long corridor, past the library, taking the left at another corridor and then down a flight of stairs, leading me into a large, sunny room with a television, a large sofa up against a wall full of windows and a full glass door, looking out onto the gardens. There were a few tables, a soft and plush looking rug, and some armchairs that I think are called Lazy-Men (Lazy-Boy, Bones, Lazy-Boy.).

- - -

"I like to sit in here during the day, although it gets a little cold at night with the windows," Ange said. "It's got great light, so I can sketch while Hodgie watches bug videos and geology documentaries." she said, flopping down into the couch and putting her feet up on the coffee table, and patting the seat next to her. "You want lunch? Jenkins will make us something vegetarian in a bit if we ask nicely."

I sat down, leant my head on her shoulder. "No meat? You're too good to me. Really, though. The clothes? Oh, Ange, you always know what to do."

"Sweetie, Booth was the one who told me. I just offered my assistance-- I can't have my best friend getting cold in uncomfortable clothes because some teenage twits are thoughtless and nasty."

"It was so silly, I just . . . I don't know. It's hard, Ange, harder than I thought it would be. It's dumb, and irrational, I know, but . . . I hoped, you know?"

Angela knows all my everyday secrets. We've seen each other through boyfriend breakups and final exams and all the things that happen in college when you're young, and naïve, and the world is new and everything seems worth throwing your all into it. She was the first real friend who I made at school, all thanks to the luck of roommate lottery. We ended up living together for all four years, until we needed to go our separate ways for graduate school, but we'd always kept in touch, and when she'd had it with the gallery scene in New York and was working on her computer modeling and graphic interests, I got the offer at the Jeffersonian. I never thought I'd convince her to move to D.C., but she really was in the mood to try something new, and I knew she'd be a terrific forensic artist. And she has been—we couldn't do half of what we do without the Angelator, though I'm more glad she came because I "needed the company."

She's been like you, in a lot of ways. I just don't do well at verbalizing my emotions on paper, or out loud, and when I do, it's in the shortest way possible—you're far better at it than I, and I've been rereading the things you've written, here, hoping I can get a better angle on where to start, how to try. Writing the way you do, just about what you're thinking? That isn't something I do. I write reports, and research papers, and lectures—factual dissertations with specific objections in mind. Same thing with my novels—there is dialogue that exposits the facts and relationships central to the characters' ability to solve the crime, and scientific explanation of the principles applicable to the crime central to driving the plot forward, and then what my editor insists is "necessary filler to give the reader a break before the chase begins again." But I always have a goal in mind with my books, and can see, almost like a flowchart, what all the pieces will be. Sometimes it takes me a bit to put them together, but I never, ever, write without an intended result. I just don't do well at sitting down and trying to let things come to me, see where one sentence leads into the next.

You get used to ignoring what you're thinking and feeling when you're young, and nobody really wants to know, or they want you to express things you can't or don't feel. Some of them just want you to be quiet, and not make trouble, and come in from curfew on time, so they don't have to make any effort except signing the check from social services at the end of the month that they need to feed their own kids, whose loudness and troublemaking they do have to deal with, want to deal with, because they're their own. Others want you to express gratitude every minute of every day, expect you to radiate joy at the wonderful people who've so charitably taken you in. And when you don't, because even I at fifteen was not in full control of my moods and emotions, because you're still hurt, and confused, and angry, and bleeding inside because you just don't understand why you're there in the first place, instead of at home, listening to your parents laughing about something in the kitchen, well, they get angry. Or hurt. At first, they start pressing you, hoping to guilt you into feeling that gratitude. And then, when they realize it's not working the way they want it to, they either toss you out as not worth the bother, or take it out on you physically. That only ever happened to me once, and I was almost eighteen by then, so the social workers didn't try too hard to get me a permanent placement after that, just buried the report about my pulling a kitchen knife on that one foster father, and urged me to just try to "stay calm," and "keep my head down" until I was out. That's why the Margarets are so important. They actually want to hear what the kids are saying, want to let them feel what they have to feel before they can move on to paying attention to where they are, rather than focus on where they were, before. Those three short years of training myself to repress anything that might get me in trouble, to stifle any emotion that wasn't watchfulness, to see what would come next? I'm surprised it's only taken this long to take the lid off of some of that. I never thought that I would at all.

Angela knows that, though mostly by her own good instincts, and doesn't press except to tell me what she thinks is going on, and if she's right, and I can hear it, deal with it, I agree. When I can't, she just makes fun of me a little, and lets it drop, knowing full well I'll probably spend days thinking about it afterward, until whatever pearl of wisdom she's shared makes sense.

But Ange is a far more social person than I am, a veritable whirlwind of energy and interests, and her ability to express herself has always allowed her to make fast friends. She understands, as I still often do not, that frivolity can be beneficial, freeing, and allow for more significant emotions and actions to come forward once the frivolous energy is burnt off. She's always had friends I've never met, who offered her things I couldn't—ideas and technical critiques of her painting, attendance at art events for things I find deadly boring, dancing and drinking until all hours of the night when I see no point in becoming intoxicated and losing control of my actions, and trips on a whim to places I'd never think were worth visiting. (Do you know she is halfway through visiting things like the world's largest ball of string, and the world's largest rubber band?) I hope that I have been able to offer her one thing—stability, a place to come back to, when she really needs something, because she's always been there for me, even when I've been unable to express why I needed her.

I haven't always done as good a job at even that, though, and when she got together with Jack, who loved and loves her as much as she deserves, I could see that he'd be better for her in ways that I couldn't. If I was an anchor, he was a rock. I could mostly stay in place, but there were things that would cause me to become unmoored—my family, and all the things surrounding them, mostly, and I was unmoored, for much of the time that they two found each other. I was relieved, but it wasn't until my father had left the second time that I realized I'd been ignoring someone, besides you, who hadn't left, to spend my time obsessing about someone who had. So, I tried again.

"Ange. Are you happy with Hodgins? Does he…"

She looked puzzled. Here I go again, having no idea how to start one of these conversations.

"I mean, he is . . . he gives . . . does he? Agh. This is not coming out the way it should!" I put my head in my hands. While I admit that it probably releases my neurochemical transmitters better to be trying to express emotions rather than tamp them down, "compartmentalize" as Sweets was wont to accuse me, it still doesn't make it any easier for me.

She was still looking puzzled. Okay. Deep breath. Start over.

"Ange. I haven't been as good a friend to you as I could. And I'm sorry. I'm so glad that you have Jack, because he's so much better at so many of the things I was never any good at anyway. I… you… I'm not an easy person to put up with, I know. That you . . .

stayed my friend all this time, when I was… I just haven't been there as much as I could, and I'm sorry."

She squeezed my hand. "Bren. You don't have to apologize. There's nothing to apologize for—I haven't always been fair to you in trying to make you deal with things I wanted you to be ready for, even though I knew very well that you weren't, and then pretended to myself to be surprised when you'd back off for months. Booth? Well, he had more patience, and a better sense of how far to push. And it's because of you I have Jack. He told me how you pushed him to stay awake, to keep thinking, how you were spending every minute you were in there thinking and trying more things to make more air, to give us time, to find a way out or give us a way in. If you hadn't done that? Well, I'd be without my best friend and my best love. I didn't exactly do a great job myself, after Hodgins and you came out of the ground. You seemed fine, just tired and relieved, and Jack needed me, right then and there, and after that, well, they call love a whirlwind for a reason. It really wasn't until after Booth arrested your dad that I realized I'd been neglecting you, and that in the meantime . . . I'd been replaced. I was glad, Bren, don't get me wrong, but it takes a little time to get your head wrapped around something like that."

Oh, Ange. Not replaced. I still need you, and you're still there for me. How can I explain that?

"Angela. One of the mottoes of Booth's Rangers is 'Rangers lead the way.' Well, you did, too. If you hadn't been my friend all this time, made me know there was at least one person I could trust if I admitted I needed something? You did that, Ange. You led the way. If you hadn't? There wouldn't be any room for Booth to have moved into."

I'm not a physically demonstrative person. Waiting for the shove from behind in the hallways at high school, because they know the foster kid won't fight back, lest she get into trouble with the people feeding her this month, makes you as wary of touch going out as the ones coming in. I'd been able to make myself be more physical with Angela, but it wasn't really until you came along that I decided that I could separate the need to protect myself from shoves coming in, from the ability to let hugs, and handholding, and other "simple touches," as Angela calls them, out. So I pulled squeezed her hand again, and put my arm around her to pull her over.

Her eyes were watering as she listened, and mine were too, as I leant my forehead against hers, and tried to make sure she understood. "Anges lead the way, Angela." And then she burst into tears, and I burst into tears, and we used up a half a box of tissues before Jenkins interrupted us, sheepishly, to see if we wanted lunch.

Ange sniffled and laughed as she said, "Oh, please, yes. Would it be too much trouble if you could make something to satisfy Brennan's disdain for animal products of any kind?"

He laughed, and said, "I think I can manage something. Come on down in twenty minutes or so."

When he'd left, we both had regained some equilibrium, and she pulled me into a hug as we sniffled and laughed a little more. And then, mercurial spirit that she is, she got a glint in her eye, and grabbed my hands.

"I've been more than patient in waiting to get you alone. Now, spill. I need to hear it all, every sexy, naughty detail!"

"Ange! That's, it's, private!"

"Oh. Right. Like all those sex scenes between Kathy and Andy in her lab and his office and his truck and in interrogations rooms had nothing to do with any fantasies you'd been entertaining about a certain hunk of hotness? Bren… come on. You've got to give me something, here, or you know I'll just find a way to find out myself. And you don't want your hubby to shoot me because I've caught the two of you doing something naughty, now do you!"

"Ange! You wouldn't!!" She would. I know she would. She's insatiable about this kind of stuff. Here goes.

"I'm only saying this because I don't want you to get shot. No other reason. And if you ever so much as bring this up in any kind of conversation, anything he would do will be a far cry from how I will get you back."

She nodded. If I was threatening her, it was going to be good.

"Apparently, Booth has this thing for stockings. And the first time we . . . well, he told me I'd better not wear them again. But . . . I did, though I swear it was because you know how much I hate pantyhose. So, anyway, we were getting ready to meet his parents, and I got out one of those sets we'd bought right around Labor Day?"

"Which color? I know you bought fifteen of those."

"The blush pink ones…" She nodded. "So anyway, I'd put them on and was getting ready in the bathroom before I put my dress on, and when I came out of the bathroom…"

Her eyes got wider and she was practically bouncing up and down as I described your reaction in the hallway, and then squealed when I backed up to tell her about the fact that you are a despoiler of panties. She just got so excited that I got more into the story, and I was getting a little worked up myself, remembering, so I was still talking, but also thinking, when I realized I'd let out a little more detail than I'd meant to as she yelled out in excitement.

"He ripped a double tied silk neck tie knotted around a piece of oak with one hand? Oh, my God, sweetie, that's so hot I think I need to go be alone a few minutes. Unless you'd care to join me?"

"Ange!"

"What? Scientific inquiry, Bren?" My jaw must have dropped open. "Oh, I'm just kidding, though I bet you as soon as your hotness got over the shock, he'd be all turned on."

"Ange!"

"Yes, Bren, that's my name. Kidding, okay? So what happened then?" I continued the story, and again got caught up, as I remembered some more, until she interrupted me again.

"Five hours!!"

Sorry, Booth. But, well, seems like my brain to mouth filter turns to goo when I'm thinking about us, and not just my knees. But at least I think I shocked even Angela enough to keep her from prying for a bit longer.

I poked her, and said, "Yes. I'll tell you about the sixth hour after lunch." Hopping up, and heading out the door before she could grab me, I headed down to the kitchen with her yelling "Brennan! Come back here!"

- - -

Even Angela has some sense of propriety, so when she caught up with me in the kitchen, she merely shot me a 'we're not done with this yet, Missy' look before we settled in at the long counter in front of the stoves and the ovens, and watched as Jenkins finished making us our lunch, each enjoying a glass of Riesling Angela insisted we have. "It's been too long since we glug-glug-woohooed," Angela said, then got up to go to one of the refrigerators.

"Here," she said, pulling out a plate of breakfast radishes and butter, and pulling over the salt cellar. "This is the only fat I'll insist you consume." So we worked on the radishes with butter and salt (I don't think I've made you this, it was one of my favorites in Paris) while Jenkins finished our lunch.

"Aren't you going to have any?" I asked, as he set out only two plates.

Ange jumped in. "C'mon Jenkins, pull up a chair and have a glass." He smiled, and did so.

"This is delicious!"

"Thank you. I worked in a Buddhist monastery for several years, and had the opportunity to cook for the Dalai Lama. This was one of his favorites. Jack and Angela aren't fond of vegetarian food, so I'm glad you prefer it, Temperance. I don't want my skills to get rusty."

We were finishing our third glass of wine, and laughing as he told us stories about working for the President of France. "And then he burst into the kitchen, naked except for the curtain from the Henri IV bedroom wrapped around him..."

"Are you telling that story again?" asked Jack, as the two of you came in and sat down. Jenkins rolled his eyes, and said "Yes, Jack, I am. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, just that you need to start over so I can hear it again. You know it's one of my favorites. Here, open another bottle of that wine, you alcoholics. Jeez, Booth, the men go out for three hours to buy only the basic, most necessary clothing items, and the wives are getting drunk with the help when we get back. What is the world coming to?"

Jenkins snorted. "The help, eh? Whatever, dude. You try keeping this pile going."

"Touche, my man, touche."

"Bones, is that tofu? And veggies? Where's the meat?"

"Booth, don't start."

"Booth, honey, you made her eat three pieces of bacon for breakfast and I made her have a quarter cup of butter on her radishes, lay off."

"Yeah, lay off, dude."

"Only if you have a milkshake later."

"Half a milkshake."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Jenkins shook his head. "Are they like this _all_ the time?"

Our ever-so-loyal friends answered in unison. "You have no idea."

- - -

"Booth! Who is Vincenzo and why is a whole month's salary on this receipt?"

Oops. I forgot I'd left that on the table so I wouldn't forget to pick up the tux on Wednesday.

"Um… I bought you new underwear, too, sweetheart?"

- - -

You woke as I carried you back to the bedroom from the couch. You'd fallen asleep after we finished the first season of 'Scarecrow and Mrs. King,' you complaining that it was "totally unrealistic for that Agent to drive a Corvette, and his suits are too flashy, and his Charm Smile is smarmy," but you really got into it the first time Amanda clobbered a bad guy who was trying to double-team Lee. Then, you smiled, and said, "She's feisty, I like her."

- - -

We'd been doing it all week, each taking turns every other morning. Though I should know better than to be surprised by anything you do anymore, I was amazed on Sunday morning when it was you, though I'd been thinking it. I woke to your hands, tracing up my sides, your soft lips and satin tongue tracing circles on my chest and my stomach. As I woke and looked down, you stopped and looked up at me. "Booth-- we'll be married this time next week, did you know that?"

"I did. You beat me to my reminding you, though."

"Just like I beat you to telling you I loved you," you smirked, then returned your attentions to what you'd been doing before I had woken.

I woke before you the next day, to remind you. Every morning, it was joyful. Every evening, after work, after chemo, it was sad and then hopeful, until Thursday came and we sat, working and reading, and talking, until you were done and they came and took those needles from your arm and we could go home. We'd had lunch with my parents that day, who'd come to town early, before we went to your treatment, both my parents surprised by your weight loss and your nonetheless sparkling eyes and beautiful smile.

I could write more about how on Monday, with your naked squinting eye and your delicate, sensitive fingers, you found nicks only visible by microscope to others on the ribs shielding the hearts in all four victims' bodies, and how you'd shown Clark how the killer missed slightly in his efforts to mark no bone except for the unidentifiable object used to pulverize the skulls, and Anne found enough dentals to I.D. the victims, all before lunch and your class, when you again terrorized your students for not doing the reading.

I could write more about Monday night, when Jack called us at home to say that the knife that left the microscopic nicks was a specialized one, leaving traces of metal found only in certain military knives.

I could write a whole section about Tuesday morning, when I met with the colonel, whose division was the only one that issued those knives, knives I knew well, and he promised to help as I showed him that all four victims were military contractors that Sully and I had learned all disappeared during testing maneuvers, since Jack's soil analysis had shown a specific clay found only in the woods of West Virginia, woods I also knew well. And I could write more about how Sully found out that the four men had planned to sell a new alloy they'd been working on through the Lieutenant, until they backed out of the deal and left him on the hook with the buyer. He killed them, but never got the alloy, and Sully went to stakeout the buyer.

I could write of how Wednesday morning, after picking up my Tux, you and I met with the Lieutenant in charge of maneuvers, you saw the scar on the palm of his hand as he went to take a sip of water, so you grabbed his hand, as your other pulled out the duplicate knife you'd stored in your lap. You flipped his palm face up as I pinned his arm to the table and grabbed him by the throat, and then you unsheathed the knife to match it against his palm, the jagged edges matching where he'd gripped the knife by the blade after dropping it during the struggle and grabbed it back up, before turning it around and stabbing the rest. Sully picked up the buyer as soon as I called in the confession.

I could write more of how Wednesday afternoon, while your father guarded you at the doctor's and at home, Sully and Clark and I searched the lieutenant's quarters, and found the knife under a clevely hidden floorboard, but no trick I hadn't done myself before, and Clark swabbed the knife and found five types of blood, one for each victim and one for the killer. I won't go into more detail about how the colonel accompanied me into the holding cell, and how I watched him grab the killer by the throat, before shoving him at the M.P.s waiting outside to transfer him.

I'll avoid all the details of how Sam and the Director shook their heads on Thursday morning, as they sat in my office while you worked on the couch I'd just had brought in, in case you needed to rest in my office. Sam complained that the speed with which we'd solved this one was going to set an unreachable precedent for everyone else in the Hoover, and the Director insisted we attend the Rose Garden ceremony on Friday, for resolving such an embarrassing military debacle so quickly, until you looked up, a fierce look in your eyes and a twinkle in your smile, and said, "It will have to wait until Monday. We have a wedding rehearsal on Friday. I'm sure the President will understand."

I could describe more about lunch with my parents and then treatment on Thursday afternoon, as we talked, and worked, and read, and took turns completing each other's thoughts while talking to Henry, and then went home and made love to commemorate that we were six down, eighteen more to go, six weeks and counting.

On Friday morning, we both shut our phones off, and celebrated another joyful reminder that we would be seven days married that time next week, and then packed our things for the weekend, picking up the license on the way to Hodgins Castle, Jenkins letting us in with a smile as we brought our things up to our room and christened the bed for good luck before the rehearsal and tomorrow.

And then it was lunchtime, and Angela and Jack came home, and we enjoyed a quiet lunch in the kitchen with Jenkins, eating cheeseburgers and homemade fries and milkshakes, all laughing as Angela kept squealing, "You're getting married tomorrow!"

But really, all of that stuff's not important. What I want to write about is when it was time to go to the church, and practice what we'd been waiting for several different measures of time-- for a week, for two months, for three years and three hundred sixty four days, because the fourth anniversary of your blackmailing me in the Jeffersonian rose garden is tomorrow. I have never been so happy to be the subject of a federal offense.


	33. Chapter 33

33.

The problem with Hodgins' house? I mean, besides the fact that it covers two square miles and has so many staircases that he probably has to buy extra gravity just to offset all the ups and downs? The cell reception fades in and out, so I have to walk three rooms down and stand right by the right window to get any reception at all. On cloudy days, I'll probably have to stand on my head or something ridiculous to get any signal at all. I'd had to call my parents and yours to make sure they were all set for getting picked up and needed to get dressed, so I headed back to the room, just hoping I didn't need them to send out the bloodhounds to find my way back.

"Bones-- why are you in the bathroom with the door shut?"

"Booth-- there are some things a woman wants to keep private."

"Tell me that's not what I think it means."

"What?"

"Bones... tell me that doesn't mean ... uh... that your monthly friend decided this was the perfect time to show up?"

"Oh. Menstruation? No. Not until I gain back more weight."

"What!? What do you mean? What are you talking about? Open that door!"

"Booth-- it's fine. A woman's menstruation cycle can often be interrupted by medical stressors, including weight loss. It's happened before, it will come back when I put more weight back on."

"Okay, I don't like that at all, but you're still not answering the question about why the door's closed."

"Booth-- Sometimes, I like to get dressed without having to swat your hands away while I try to get ready."

"Bones..."

"Don't give me your sad little Seeley voice. I'm almost done. Get dressed."

"What color are you wearing?"

"Red. Why?"

"Maybe I want to coordinate my socks."

"I already put a suit and shirt on the back of the closet door, and some socks and things on the bureau."

"Bones! These are new!"

"Nothing but the softest, most hideously colored cashmere socks in red, gold, and navy zigzags for my Seeley."

"Ooh! Boxers, too! Ah, Bones, you're the best."

"You'd better believe it, Boothy my boy."

"Hey! Only Billy gets to call me that."

"Suck it down, Booth."

"Up, Bones, suck it up."

/

You came out of the bathroom looking gorgeous, a winey-red wrap dress in a merino knit fabric, with a v-neck and full sleeves, a knee length skirt showing off your gorgeous gams, and your hair all curly.

"Pretty, is that new?"

"Mmm-hmm. Ange had Natalia make it up to match a pair of boots she said I don't wear enough. It's lovely—soft and warm. How do you like your socks?"

I grinned. They were _really_ loud, boxers, too. Although I can't wear them to work, because the guys already make fun of my fancy cotton ones-- if they see you bought me silk ones, and it's all over. I mean, they're just jealous that I'm the Stud, the Hoover alpha-male, but still... silk boxers would be pushing it a little. "They're great. Where'd you get them?"

"Your obscenely expensive little Italian tailor."

"Isn't he cute?"

You smiled. "He is. Of course, you spend that much money with him and he'll do anything he can to charm me."

"Thanks, Bones, they're really soft."

"Well, I know your feet bother you. Cashmere's warmer and softer than cotton." Huh. I don't suppose I should need to ask how you know that stuff by now, but yeah. It rains, or drops below forty degrees, and my feet hurt like a bitch. Getting every bone in your feet broken will do that to you. I don't know what's going to give out first, my knees or my feet, but I am not looking forward to that medical appointment, when they invalid me into a desk job. Although that's probably why Sam's dumping all that policy shit on my desk... he had his back broken in 'Nam, and it caught up with him around the time he turned 45-- just couldn't handle being out there every day anymore. But I don't want to think about that right now, not when I can be looking at you doing girly stuff in the mirror.

"And, they're hideous. Just like you like them." You'd gone back in with your makeup and were putting on whatever it was... I don't think you need any makeup at all, but I find it amusing when you spend all that time getting gussied up while at the same time complaining about objectification of female sexuality. You're so cute when you're contradictory. And I love that you do girly stuff for me... I mean, I think you look great covered in mud and reeking of organ decay, but I really do like your hair curly-- it's less severe, and frames your nine-mile-deep eyes better.

"Bones-- what necklace do you want?"

You were putting on mascara-- I don't know how you don't poke your eye out with that stuff-- and you paused to finish before you responded. "I don't know. I'm not sure I brought anything that goes with this."

Heh. So glad Angela called me to tell you what she'd bought you.

I walked in behind you. "Close your eyes."

You shot me an '_I'm not done with my makeup yet_' look, but did it anyway. You're so good at humoring me. Once your eyes were closed, I pulled the gift I'd had made out of my pocket and clasped it around your neck. Your neck, by the way? So gorgeous that if I were a vampire? We'd both be in trouble. "Okay, you can look now."

Oh, good. You liked it-- your eyes lit up like when I brought you that Christmas tree. "Booth! That's a precolombian garnet and silver dower necklace!"

"Call me Special Agent Squinty."

"But... how?"

"FBI secret powers, right?"

"These must have... but there's no... how did you..."

"It's a replica, Bones, I had it made."

"But... how? There's no extant ..."

"Description of the necklace except for the oral histories you took from those tribesmen in that paper you published? Yeah."

"But... Booth!" Wow. I was going to have to get Clark to make me copies of the rest of those articles he'd collected that you'd written. I'd been asking him how he won that bet at O'Reilly's with Sweets, and he'd told me he'd collected all the articles you'd ever published (um... a whole shelf of them, Bones. You're going to have to cut back a bit, but then again, you didn't have me to keep you busy before, now, did you?) including that article you wrote on Irish pubs. When I'd mentioned that I was trying to think of something to get you before the wedding, he got that '_I'm a lover and a fighter'_ in his eye and pulled that article out to show me. He's a good kid, Bones. You and Cam should really hire him.

You were still looking at me in the mirror, wide-eyed. "You read my paper?"

"It was slow two weeks ago."

"Seeley, I don't know what to say. But... who?"

"Ange has a friend at the design school who teaches jewelry-making. She was all over it. Although Dr. Hanson in the Meso-American department was practically hyperventilating when I asked him to compare the finished necklace with your paper to make sure it was accurate. He wants pictures, or permission to borrow it later, or something."

"Booth..."

"That's my name. Don't wear it out. So, see, here, this is the part where you turn and throw yourself into my arms because I've sprained my brain forever wading my way through all your anthropological babble in order to come up with the most romantic, most squinty wedding gift ever, and..."

My words were cut off as you did, indeed, throw yourself into my arms. I love the way your body feels against mine, so small and yet strong, your hands so delicate and yet determined, the warmth of you against me. And I really like kissing you, the way you pull my head down when you don't have heels on and you're too short to reach my mouth without stepping up on your tiptoes, and the way the perfume of your hair and your scent envelops me as your soft lips meet mine. Your mouth tastes like honey, and warmth, and silk. Every single time we kiss, it's electric. That first time you kissed my cheek? Seriously contemplated letting Russ run while I grabbed you and backed you up into the hallway wall outside Hallie's room. The only thing that stopped me at all was the fact that part of my brain was still all, '_wait? what just happened_?" And that misteltoe kiss? The only thing that stopped me from melting right there was the fact that you looked almost as dumbstruc as I felt. Either that, or Caroline's standing right there stopped me from tossing everything off your desk and sealing the deal right there.

When we ran out of air, you pulled away. "Thanks, Special Agent Squinty," you said, your arms still around my neck and your eyes that deep royal blue when the afternoon light's hitting them just right.

"I'm not done yet," I said, then pulled the earrings out.

"Seeley! Earrings!"

"I know, there weren't any in the article, but that's not going to stop me from bedecking my Bones in squinty prehistoric jewels." You cut off the rest of my explanation with another kiss. Breaking apart, (breathing is so inconvenient, sometimes), you smiled and took the earrings from me, putting them in and smiling what I hoped was your '_I'm going to brag more about your alpha-male prowess in front of a bar full of men soon_' smile.

"As my dad says, you're a good boy. Now, I'll just be another minute, and we can go. I... have a present for you, too. Downstairs."

/

Despite my best puppy dog eyes, though, you ignored me while you put the rest of your makeup on, and swatted me. "Go shift the things in my purse to the black bag I set out, please?"

I don't understand why you need all that stuff in your bag. I mean, gloves and evidence bags? Okay. But what the heck do you need with one of those folded-up-tinfoil-blanket thingies? How do you ever find anything?

You'd come out and put your boots on by the time I finished shifting all your clutter. "You want this black wrap here?"

"Please," you said, coming over to let me drape it around your shoulders.

"Booth!"

Sorry. I just couldn't resist your neck for a moment, there. Maybe I am part vampire.

You were smiling that '_I've got a secret_' smile all the way downstairs, and dragged me in the opposite direction from where I'd parked the truck when we hit the ground floor.

"Bones-- aren't Jack and Ange..."

"They've already gone to pick up Jared and Russ and Amy. We just need to get our parents and Parker."

"Yeah, but Bones, the truck's over..."

You shot me a look. "Seeley, stop arguing and just follow me, okay?" We reached a door on the other side of the vestibule (only vestibule I know bigger than my whole floor at work, I mean, you could park a yacht in here), and you turned, your back to the door and your hand on the knob.

"Hands over your eyes," you said, waiting until I did before you put your hand on my elbow and opened the door. "Just a few steps forward," you said, as we walked out onto the gravel-lined driveway. You tugged me a few more steps, then stopped, let go of my elbow, and stepped behind me to wrap your arms around my waist. "Okay, you can look, now."

Wow. Oh, my goodness. Wow. It's so pretty. Wow. "Bones! It's a 'Stang!"

"1967, black, original interior and chrome, not all peeped out like Jack's."

"Pimped, Bones," I said automatically, before I grabbed you and twirled you around so I could give you a '_the boys at the office are never going to believe this and they're going to hate me forever when I drive up in this baby_' kiss.

"Wow. Just... wow... Just... Bones."

"See, here, this is the part where you turn and dip me to the ground while kissing me silly because I've purchased you a gas-guzzling, deathtrap safety record, socially irresponsible and utterly impractical motor vehicle simply because I listen to your endless whining and your completely unfounded need to have your very real male prowess affirmed by a muscle car, though it's not..."

Okay, I can take a hint. You want a '_I'm totally going to shut up that babble and kiss you silly kiss_?' You got it, babe.

I do like it when you look as gobsmacked as I feel when I'm done kissing you, so I picked you up and carried you around to your seat while you were still panting a little, and then came back around to my side and got in. Oooh. White leather interior, and antique car smell. My dad is so going to beg me to drive the car when we pick him up.

/

"Seeley!"

"Nice, huh, Dad?"

"Caroline, I'm leaving you for Temperance."

"Get in line, Richard. I called dibs first. I mean, at least I've seen the girl's gorgeous ta-ta's up close!"

"Ma!"

"Caroline!"

"Son, can I drive?"

"Maybe later, dad, on the way to dinner."

"But I want to drive it now..."

"Richard, put those sad puppy eyes away and come make out with me in the backseat. It'll be just like after the prom..."

"Ma!!"

"What? Like you're not going to do the same thing as soon as you get rid of us for the night?"

"Caroline!"

"Oh, hush, sweetheart, and give mama a kiss."

"Ma!!"

/

I'm so glad you like your ridiculous automobile. And your socks. Of course I notice when your feet hurt- although if you made me choose whether I noticed first because it's what I do, or because I was worried about you moving more slowly than usual, I couldn't really say. What can I say? I just notice what you do and how you do it.

/

You were practically bouncing with nervousness by the time we got to the church and went back to meet with the priest one last time to make sure I was familiar with all the various kneeling and other cues, and were fussing until I couldn't stand it anymore.

"Booth. I have officiated at a three-day Yamamano wedding feast, which requires a two-day preparatory fast and multiple offerings to the ancestral spirits, of whom there are often hundreds. I can handle a one-hour mass." I really like your priest-- he laughed at you and then some more when you turned red, and then laughed again when you squirmed as I kissed you goodbye in front of him.

When I reached the vestibule, Ange and Cam and Parker and my dad were all huddled up, reminding Parker of how to walk up the aisle and where to stand. My dad really loves Parker-- thinks he's cute as a button, he says. I'm glad he's taken to him. Nothing like a vengeful grandfather to help keep our little one safe. I peeked back into the sanctuary and saw Jared and Jack were already out by the altar, waiting for things to begin. As I was.

I've been surprised that you haven't asked me what made me change my mind about marriage, but maybe you didn't want to press your luck. And the truth is, if it were anyone else but you, I would probably have all the same objections I've always had. But you're different.

My ideal for marriage was, is, my parents. They were wonderful partners, complementing each other as they cared for Russ and I, and yet maintained their own adult relationship, full of glances and touches that Russ and I couldn't begin to comprehend, children as we were. But we knew it was special. When they disappeared, though, and never came back, I doubted the reality of them as married adults as well as the reality of them as loving parents. When you pile that on top of all the foster mothers whose creativity, individuality, liveliness was stifled by economic hardship, or their husbands' insecurity or just-plain-meaness? Marriage was not attractive. And as much as you've made fun of the men I've dated, the fact remains that most men do not deal well with a woman who is as smart as, if not smarter, and more driven, than they. It's always a competition, and they either start to belittle you and condescend, or just shut you off like a light they no longer need. In those circumstances? Marriage is not attractive at all-- maintaining my independence, my own sense of self-worth in the face of little boys whose egoes required unnecessary feeding, who wanted me to pretend to admire them when they were being illogical, or chauvinistic? There was no question which side of the equation I'd come out on.

And then, of course, you came along. That first case? You were arrogant, dismissive, interrupting me before I was done explaining, not letting me use the only language, science, that I knew how to use to explain what you needed to know. You made a horrible first impression, I won't lie to you about it. But the fact that you made an apology in your own way, as infuriating as being held by Homeland Security was? Your tacit admission that you were wrong, even as you continued to argue with me on a verbal level? Well, I'm not as clueless about some things unsaid as people think I am. I'd learned enough lessons from enough lousy boyfriends by that time to realize your bluster was a cover-up for the fact that you were actually sorry that you hadn't believed me, that first case-- I'd enough experience with the converse, men saying they weren't bothered when I was right, while their bodies told me something different. And you stayed different from the rest. You listened, you challenged, and you admitted when you were wrong, even as you pushed me on things that I still needed to learn. You didn't think you were smarter than me in everything, and didn't need to prove that you were-- instead, you deferred to me in my areas of expertise, while trying to explain to me what you were doing. Complements, in our own areas of expertise, running parallel to one another toward the same goal, the close of a case. For someone who was used to only competition from men, your willingness to accept me as a complement? Well, as you say, your 'studly physique' didn't fail to catch my attention, but it was the way you admitted I was an intellectual equal, first, that made me rethink the possibility of a man and a woman maintaining a relationship of complementary equality.

When my dad stayed, because you made him stay, or gave him the choice to stay, or however you want to describe it, I got the chance to re-evaluate the decisions I'd made about their marriage, and their love for me, as not being real, and had to admit that while flawed, my parents did really love each other, did really love us, and did really try to complement and be helpmeets to one another in the endeavor they'd undertaken together. They worked at it-- it didn't come naturally, but required thoughtfulness, intent, and attention. And I realized that I'd been trying to bring the same to bear in my work with you, even as that stupid line you drew kept me on my side even as I wondered often what it would be like if it wasn't there. It's not a leap at all, just a small hop or a skip or a jump, to wondering if the ways in which we'd made our work partnership successful might apply in non-work situations as well. I still think a lot of people are trapped in bad marriages, but now I'm less inclined to think it's a function of the institution, and more a problem of people's own dysfunctional expectations. But you? You were a complement, not a competitor, and I wanted to give you something tangible and important to you, to make manifest the way I feel about you, even as I don't need a state-sanctioned piece of paper to prove to the world how I feel. You're who you are, and it's important to you, so I'm happy to do it. And I find myself drawn into the excitement of it, not just for your sake, but in the actual anticipation of being able to commemorate my feelings for you in front of the people we love, and to affirm my own commitment to you. It's the witnessing, the communal, socially dynamic aspect of it, that appeals to me, even as it's important to you to feel like you've made the commitment in front of our families and before your God. And I will be blowing my wishes out for a happy marriage to the universe, too, though I don't know where they'll end up.

"Sweetie. Are you done ruminating? The cellist's here." Ange's voice drew me from my ruminations.

"Sure. I guess we're ready to start soon, then?" I looked into the sanctuary, and saw you'd joined the groomsmen at the altar, the three of you shoving one another in a mock-display of male prowess that was very endearing, especially the way you shoved your brother really hard when he clapped Jack a little too hard on the back. Jack's strong, but you and your brother are tall, you know?

And then the cellist was playing, so I bent to give Parker a kiss and scoot him up the aisle. Angela started crying as the opening notes from our unorthodox processional began, and Cam just kept handing her tissues as we watched Parker make his way up the aisle. Once Ange had started up the aisle, Cam blew her own nose, and shook her head.

"You two really take the cake, you know that, Grace?"

"Take the pie, Shaky. Booth likes pie." She just smiled, and sniffled, and blew her nose again as she made her way up the aisle.

My dad didn't say anything, just pulled my arm tight into his side, as we made our way up the aisle, in preparation for tomorrow, and he smiled, teary eyed, as he handed my arm to you when we reached the altar.

You arm was shaking as I laid my hand on yours, and I wondered whether I'd better not slip you some valium tomorrow morning. You were even more worked up now than you were in the priest's office.

We went through the homilies, the readings, the prayers and scriptures, the standing and kneeling parts, and you were practically vibrating by the time we reached the section of the rehearsal with the recitation of the traditional and personal vows. Definitely, a valium, I decided. You were like to pass out on me tomorrow, otherwise. Of course, we'd agreed that we would wait until tomorrow before we shared our personal vows, so after walking through the remainder of the ceremony, you practiced walking me down the aisle, shooting me nervous glances the whole time. I dragged you out the front door and onto the steps, then, and gave you my most hearfelt '_I'm not going to run, so quit freaking out_,' kiss, which involves lots and lots and lots of tongue, and by the time we came up for air, everyone else was on the stairs around us, staring.

Ange, of course, was first to recover. "That was _hot_," she said. Of course.

/

I was explaining to your mother why we'd chosen the diner for the rehearsal dinner. Flo, the head waitress, had outdone herself, working with the Thai takeout place we'd favored to lay out a spread of comfort food and takeout to delight everyone, from macaroni and cheese to mee krab, from beer to milkshakes and back. "This is where Booth and I agreed that there is more than one kind of family," I told her, then explained about some of the many memories we had here, even the ones with Zack. You and I had both agreed it was really the only sensible place for the rehearsal-- good and bad memories, yes, but all essential to who we'd become, who we were still becoming.

People were dancing to the music Angela had loaded onto her I-pod and hooked up to the diner's speaker system, and were helping themselves to the food and the champagne we'd also laid in. Cam and Sully were filthy dancing (dirty, Bones, dirty dancing) to practically every song, and Russ and Amy and Jared were talking with Jack and Ange and drinking beers. Your mother and my Dad were flirting in the corner when "Hot Blooded" came on the stereo, and your Dad laughingly pulled me into a dance with him.

As soon as we'd started dancing, though, and he'd pulled me in from a spin, he gave me almost the mirror of your serious look, and said, "I haven't seen him so happy since he was eighteen and left for that war. That's your doing, thank you." And then he spun me out, so that I had time to think of a response before I was back within his earshot again.

"We take care of each other. He's done the same for me." You dad gave me his own version of your sweet smile, and spun me again, until you caught me and cut in, grumbling that we were dancing too close to the pie fridge.

"Sorry, Seeley, I know you and fridges and Foreigner are not the best combination." I love when you burst out laughing-- it's such a warm sound, and every woman in the room always looks at you when you laugh. We kept dancing until I heard clinking, and turned to see our fathers, arm in arm, holding champagne glasses.

"Flo, my love," said my father, "would you please make sure everyone has some champagne? We old fathers have some words we'd like to say." He shot her his charm smile, and she smiled back with her '_don't think I haven't been buttered up before, but you're still cute_,' smile, and made the rounds with more flutes of champagne. You pulled me against you as you leant against the counter, as we stood directly in front of our dads.

Mine began.

"When my Russell told me that my fugitive days were going to be over the minute Seeley Booth set an eye on me, because he wouldn't stand for the fact that I'd broken my dear daughter's heart, I was never so glad. At least until I met the man himself, and saw how he guarded my Temperance, hand at her back and eyes and reflexes alert even in friendly territory. Then, I was no longer glad. I was overjoyed. I'd tried to keep an eye on her, over the years, and failed, many times. But as I first shook Booth's hand, I knew he would never fail, as I had. I had to run, one last time, so the two of them could finish work I'd left undone too long, and couldn't complete on my own, but the next time I met Booth, he bested me, as I knew he would.

He has bested me many a time since then, not least of which was in that courtroom, when he rose to the challenge my daughter had set him, to know and understand and prove that love sometimes means telling the truth you least wish to admit. I could never have done it, but Booth? He is equal to any challenge my Temperance sets him.

Booth-- your vigilance, devotion, and love for my daughter, your steadfast strength and determination, make you perfect for Temperance, my wise, wily, strong daughter. I wish you both unfaltering joy, and the strength you two already possess, to carry you through all life's challenges, to give to each other the sense of completion I had with my own Christine.

To Seeley."

Everyone raised their glasses, repeating. I felt you exhale, softly, as my Dad finished his toast, so I gave your arms a squeeze and leant my head more snugly under your chin. Then your father began.

"Before Seeley left for war, he was true, and brave, and full of light. When next I saw him, two long years later, he was still true, and brave, but so shadowed by what he had seen that I thought my innocent boy was gone forever. He has always stayed true, always stayed brave, but he returned from each battle more shadowed by grief and regret, his demeanor more stoic year by year. And then, he became partners with Temperance, and began to display more aggravation, frustration, passion and laughter than I'd heard in years. I could hear the light coming back to him, and thanked God for it, wondering about the woman who'd effected the change.

And then I met Temperance in person. I opened that door, and was nearly blinded by the light in my boy's smile, and then blinded again at the way the light flowed between and was shared by the two of them. I marveled as I watched Temperance, with fierce love and tender sarcasm, pull smiles and draw laughter from him, something his mother and I had been unable to do, and thanked God that she had managed to recover our precious son's joy for him.

Temperance, your persistence, acceptance and grace, allowed you to call a Phoenix from ashes, and I thank you for bringing my boy home at last.

To Temperance."

I was having a little trouble seeing around all the tears in my eyes as you pulled me close and kissed my temple while everyone else raised their glasses. I turned, and whispered "To Seeley," as you whispered "To Temperance," and pulled me in for a kiss.

/

We'd dropped my parents and Parker off, and were on our way back to Hodgins Hovel when I decided, and took a turn up an unmarked road.

"Booth. Where are we going?" you asked, eyes curious.

"Someplace I did a stakeout a few years ago. It's pretty, especially when the moon's out."

"Is it far?"

"No... actually, it's up this hill, you can just see Hodgins' place from it."

I pulled up at the gate-- it was an old private park that stood abandoned for years, and had become a favored drop point for drug dealers back when I was working in Narcotics. We'd managed to round up that whole ring, and the park had stood empty since then-- I'd locked the front gate and kept the key, though I wasn't supposed to, and would come back to check every once in a while to make sure no one had spoiled it again. Getting out, I unlocked the gate and pulled through, then stopped and locked it again, before pulling forward to the top of the verge. This part of the area was full of old estates like Hodgins', so there weren't a lot of lights to interfere with the stars. The Anacostia wound its way at the bottom of the hill, and there was a small meadow at the top of the park where you could sit and watch the grass wave in the wind, or look up at the stars and the moon. You got out of the car, so I got out too and joined you to lean back against the hood, the warmth of the engine compartment against our legs, as you took in the view. The moon was out, and shining on your ivory skin, so bright it almost seemed translucent.

"Pretty, indeed," you said, leaning into my side. I looped my arm around your shoulder, as we just watched the water sparkling below, and listened to the quiet night sounds. It's too far from work, out here, but it's nice to get away from the noises of traffic every once in a while.

You shivered a bit, then, and pulled your wrap closer, so I shifted to stand in front of you and pull you against me. "Cold, baby?"

"Not so much that I want to leave yet," you said, one hand circling my waist as you looked up and wrapped your other hand around my neck. "Thank you for bringing me here, it's lovely."

"Pretty place for a pretty lady," I said, running my hands up your back.

"You know," you said, your eyes glinting at me with a look that means you're feeling frisky, "this dower necklace was given as part of a fertility rite celebrated the night before the wedding, and was worn by the bride to be during the couple's first sexual union, as an offering to the gods of their intentions to honor their marriage vows."

"Really, Bones?" Are you saying what I think you're saying?

"Plus, your mother did suggest your car needed christening..."

"You want to have sex in the car?"

"Well, it's my understanding that it's not an uncommon fantasy for males to think about naked women and automobiles quite frequently..."

I'm no fool. You don't have to ask me twice. I picked you up and sat you on the hood as I pulled the tie holding your dress closed at your waist open, exposing your perfect breasts and gorgeous skin to the moon.

"Jesus, Bones. You have a red set of these, too? How many of these do you have?" I couldn't help asking, right before I pulled you forward so I could feel your breast under my mouth, my tongue exploring the firm supple flesh, and the fabric covering your nipples.

"Enough to keep an entire village of lacemakers employed for a year," you said, your voice low and husky as your head fell back when I moved to your other breast, my hand making its way down your side to the tops of your thighs.

"I knew you were wearing those stockings again, Temperance," was my only reply, as I sank to my knees and pulled you forward, your arms falling back to brace yourself as I pulled your hips nearly off the edge of the hood. Biting the inside of your leg until you inhaled, sharply, I traced my way from the middle of your thigh to the edge of your panties. I love to hear the change in your breathing, the way your voice hitches, when I do all the things I spent four long years thinking I'd never get the chance to do. I traced the edge of the fabric covering your core with my fingers, as I pulled your leg out so I could kiss the space behind your knee that always makes you whimper a little. You were already wet, your scent growing, and your breath caught again as I tested your heat with my fingers, stroking you while I tasted and nipped at the skin of your thighs, so white, so soft, so secret from everyone but me. The red lace was dark and damp between your legs from your response to me, and I paused to tease you with my tongue against the fabric, as you whined and started to pant. And then I couldn't wait to taste you, so I tugged at the fabric at your hip until it parted, and cast it behind me without looking, because I wanted to see and taste and smell your center without interference. You'd begun moaning, your thighs quivering, as I pushed my tongue into your heat, your walls silken around my tongue, your hips bucking toward me, wanting more. Retreating, I ran my tongue across your folds, sucked and nibbled until you bucked again, a trickle of your scented fluid escaping as I circled your clit with my tongue, sucked at you as you whined, then thrust my fingers into you and curled them to find your G-spot while I started flicking your clit, repeating the motion until your thighs clamped around me, calling "Seeley!" as I stroked you hard, once, with my thumb, and moved my hand so I could taste your walls again. You convulsed and flooded onto my tongue as my thumb stroked you again, and fell back onto the hood, your legs falling open as another spasm seized you, and then I couldn't wait to be inside you any longer. I moved my fingers back inside you, stroking your satiny walls and your wet heat as I stood and undid my belt buckle and zipper, you coming again as I struggled to get my pants down over my cock, which was so hard that actually getting my pants off one-handed was a bit of a challenge. But for you, I will multitask.

You looked like a goddess, your dress spread under you like a cloak, your skin shining in the moonlight, your eyes closed and your expression simple abandon, then surprise and ecstasy, as I pulled myself into you, coming home. The retreat and return is wonderful, don't get me wrong, but that first moment, when you've taken me in again? That you moan in completion as I do? It just is home, our home, no matter where we are. As I withdrew and returned again, you brought your legs up behind me, hooking your ankles and pulling me deeper. I know some day I will drown in you-- in your eyes, in your heart, in your heat-- the way you respond to me makes it a welcome end. You drew me deeper again with your legs with my next thrust, pulling so hard I had to put my hands out on the hood to stop myself from falling on top of you, and you pulled yourself up, scooting forward, until you were face to face with me, desire in your eyes and your hands around my neck. "More," you groaned, before kissing me, and pulling your knees up until I was inside you to the hilt. And then my conscious mind gave up, as I gave myself over to giving you what I wanted to give and taking what you wanted me to have. At some point, your arms fell from my neck as you braced your hands on the hood again, pushing to meet and match every thrust, your head back and your hair spilling down your shoulders, moaning my name as your own fell from my throat. The necklace I'd given you caught the light with every polished stone and silver bead, and framed your perfect breasts as my hand on your back pulled you closer so I could taste them again, pull your flesh into my mouth, fill myself with the scent and taste and feel of you, until you clenched around me, screaming a wordless cry that repeated as my own need for you pulled me forward, again and again, until I exploded within you, and you responded again, squeezing me with your walls, a shudder passing up your spine and through me with its force. I braced myself with one arm as I moved the hand at your back higher, pulling your chest against mine, panting as I recovered from the force of my release with you, your heart beating hard under your ribcage as my own hammered in response.

Your breathing slowed, one of your hands coming up to wrap again around my neck, and your tongue darted out to lick my neck above the collar of my shirt. You bit my adam's apple, lightly, then growled, "Very nice. Now we just need to do the trunk, and the front seat, and the backseat, before we go home."

I said it before, but I'll say it again. You don't have to ask me twice.


	34. Chapter 34

34.

"Good morning," I heard, as your hand stroked its way up my back. "Guess what today is?" You were licking my shoulder blades now, your hand tracing the backs of my thighs.

"Saturday."

"And what else?" you continued, as one hand moved around my waist to trace my ribcage, as your tongue and mouth stroked and nipped its way up my ear.

"Just Saturday. That's all."

"That's all?" You growled, and rose up from behind me, your hands capturing mine and pinning them to the bed as you pushed me onto my back, your eyes dark and your morning erection fully evident as you loomed over me.

I looked up at you, thought a bit. Licked my lips, said "I think so. Why, did we have something planned?"

Your eyes glinted, as you lowered your head to my ear and took my earlobe between your teeth, rasping "Something about a wedding or something like that," as you moved one knee to part my legs.

"Really? I don't remember that." I replied, as you lowered yourself toward me, your hands still pinning mine to the bed as you bent your knees so you could hover at my entrance, the head of your shaft just touching my opening.

Your head bent to my breasts, as you took one of my nipples between your lips, sucking, then nibbling gently as you shifted, stroking yourself against the length of my folds, but not entering. I pushed my hands against yours, but you weren't interested in letting me go, as your mouth shifted to my other breast, and you sucked hard at me as your length teased my folds again, hovering above and rubbing lightly against my clitoris. You did it again, and you changed your suction on my breasts before you dipped the tip of your shaft into me, then withdrew before I could meet you.

"Say it," you said, stroking my outer wetness again, and sliding across my clitoris more firmly this time, as you moved your head between my breasts and began laying bites down my sternum and along the undersides of my breasts.

"What? I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, my voice becoming husky with want as you taunted me again, the increased pressure of your hardness sliding against me eliciting a groan even as I pretended not to know what you were talking about. You shifted your hands, then, pulling mine up along with yours until you pinned both of them in one hand, the other coming to palm my breast, squeezing and fondling, then rolling my nipple between your fingers as your mouth latched onto my other breast and you ground harder against me, still refusing to fill me. You continued, alternating the pressure of your fingers, your tongue, your mouth, the hard length of you, against me until I was awash in sensation, my forehead numb as all the blood pooled in my core, and I was panting, my walls aching and cramping not with release, but painful desire.

Releasing my nipple from your mouth, you looked up at me, eyes dark with promise that this wasn't going to end until I gave in, then said, "You're sure, then" before entering me halfway as you bit my breast firmly, causing me to arch up off the bed in surprise-- but you jerked away, withdrawing, before I could meet your length and take you into me.

"Ah... Seeley, what are you doing?!" I whined. I couldn't help it by then.

Your thumb bore down across one painfully taut nipple, as you half entered me again and withdrew, and I moaned at your absence. "Merely reminding you what day it is," you panted, straining with your own effort at holding back, the hand that was on my breast moving between us to pinch and pull at my clitoris.

"Ah... Seeley! Please!" You repeated the motion, your tongue laving my breast, your mouth hot on me, reminding me of the emptiness down below. As you pulled my nipple between my teeth again, your thumb passed again across me while you hovered just inside my entrance, bucking half in and then pulling immediately out.

"We're getting married today," I moaned, as you half entered me again and withdrew.

"What?" You paused long enough to say, before pulling my breast into your mouth again, your thumb now tracing painful circles around my engorged clitoris.

"We're getting married today!" I cried, as another burning cramp pulled my hips off the bed, seeking you.

"That's right," you growled, then surged into me in one fluid stroke, and withdrew. "Good girl, Temperance, so glad you remembered," you panted, as you filled me again and let go of my hands to brace your hands on either side of me. My arms came up around your neck as you slammed into me again, saying "Don't you forget it," as I arched up to meet you, and wrapped my legs behind you to bring you fully inside me.

"Never," I whimpered, as your chest lowered to mine and you slid one hand under my back, pressing me to you so my aching breasts rubbed against your chest.

"You're mine," you demanded, and I confessed, "I am," as you returned to me, filling me, before our bodies took over and speech left me, my only focus on the sense of us melting together, your heat in me and above me and all around me as we moved together, each pushing toward the other, colliding, combining, until a shudder passed through me and I contracted around you, calling "Booth" as you pulled me closer and increased your pace, pushing my knees up until they were practically in my armpits, pushing deeper and harder until "Booth!" became wordless cries of pleasure and need and tension that crashed and built over and over-- until I was mindless, my walls rippling around you as I screamed "Yours!" and you stiffened, crying out "Temperance!" as you crashed into me once, then twice more, releasing with a throb so forceful that I came again, then collapsed against me, your weight warming and pinning me, your breathing ragged in my ear.

We lay there, my hands tracing your back, as I whispered "I love you" and shifted my legs so I could cradle you still within me. Your heart was pounding against mine, our sweat mingling as our scent filled the air, and I continued to murmur "I love you" or "my Seeley" as our breath slowed. You levered yourself up then, coming back in for a breath-robbing kiss, your tongue plunging into my mouth and tangling with mine as your hand behind my head tangled in my hair.

Parting for air, you looked down at me, still a wanton look in your eye. "Good morning," you said, "Guess what today is?"

You thickened within me, my nipples tightening against your chest in response. I licked my lips, and gave you my most innocent look. "Just Saturday. That's all." You pulled from me in an instant, flipping me onto my stomach and pulling me to my knees as I struggled to make my arms straighten to support me.

"That's all?" you growled, as you surged into me, and I cried out all over again with the completion you bring me.

I whimpered, responded, as you pulled me to you again. "Why, did we have something planned?" We returned to our dance, your demanding my confession of love, of your belonging to me and I to you, until we found our release again, both crying "Yours!" as we came home again, in and with each other.

- - -

"Booth, we've been walking in circles for twenty minutes." You were whining.

"Damnit, Bones, I know where the third ballroom is, it's right past the navy blue billiard room, down this flight of stairs by the beige smoking room!" Why can't he have just one of anything in this damned labyrinth? I mean, blue, green, _and_ maroon billiards rooms? Please.

"No, it's not! It's the third left past the yellow library!" You know, you're really aggravating when I think you're probably right but I am not ready to admit it yet.

"Temperance, I am an Army Ranger, I have crossed forty miles of desert without a compass, I can find my way to a ballroom, even the third one, and why are we eating in a ballroom for breakfast anyway?"

"Angela said it has a nice view of the smaller Italian fountain. Look, will you just let me call Jack to get directions?" What? I'm the alpha-male around here, I'm not calling for directions, even in this ridiculous pile.

"No! I can find it."

"Really? Because we just passed the red card room again, for the third time."

"Goddamnit, _Temperance_, don't you pick up that house phone!"

"Well, _Seeley_, clearly your vaunted Ranger skills are no good when it comes to navigating the architectural whims of three generations of aristocratic Hodginses." Oh. Shit. You said my first name just like my Mom. You're really pissed, huh?

"Bones, don't you pick up that phone..." I lunged at you, but you were too fast, and picked up the receiver as you put your arm out to my chest to stop me from grabbing it out of your hand.

"Hi Jenkins, can I have Jack? Thank you. Jack, hi. Yeah, we're lost. Fifth floor, overlooking the west end of the maze. Yes, just past the red card room. Uh-huh, okay, what then? Alright. And then the third left past the small library? Thanks. See you soon." You turned, that evil smirk you get when you're right on your face, as you said "I told you."

"No, you said third _right_." Right. Like you'd believe anything I said at this point.

"I said left. You're just mad I had to call to ask directions."

I gave up. "Damned right."

"Quit complaining. He said he'd save you the rest of the bacon."

"Good man." At least I can assuage my wounded pride with pork fat.

- - -

Angela and Jack were looking none the worse for wear for all the champagne they'd had when we'd left the diner last night. "Too happy to be drunk on anything else," quipped Angela. "Here, Bren, have another steak and some more eggs."

"Angela, not you too. Booth, can't I just have a coffee milkshake?" You shook your head at me.

"Poor Bones, tell you what. You have the rest of the eggs while I go make you a milkshake. Jack, downstairs, two rights, and a left?"

"Two lefts and a right."

"Got it." As soon as you left, Angela smiled and pulled out the small bottle I'd asked Delia to bring over, when I'd called during the rehearsal dinner.

"Bren, he's going to kill you if he finds out."

"He's so hyped up it probably will only make him merely jittery, instead of completely agitated. Do you know he went for seven this morning? He's got so much nervous energy running through him I'm lucky I can walk," I said matter-of-factly, as Jack and Angela gaped at me. "Here, give me two. I'll make him another coffee when he comes back." I crushed the pills in the bottom of the cup, then added the sugar and cream you usually take, plus an added spoon of sugar to mask the slightly chalky taste. Jack and Angela were still staring at me when I finished stirring everything together.

"Seven?" whispered Angela, licking her lips. Jack just sat there with his mouth open. Finally-- maybe I shocked them enough that Angela won't make sex jokes for a week. Nah. She is Angela. She'll be over it in an hour.

When you came back with my milkshake, I poured some coffee from the pot into the cup and handed it to you.

"Thanks, Bones, you're too good to me," you said, as you took a swig. "Ugh. You put in too much sugar. What's the matter Bones, wedding jitters make you forget how I take my coffee?"

"Something like that. Sorry, Booth."

It worked like a charm smile. You visibly relaxed as you drank your second cup of coffee and I humored you by not only eating the eggs, but having a full half of the last steak, before handing you my plate and asking,

"Finish this, will you?"

"Mmm, steak."

- - -

We went up to the room across from Jack and Angela's as you and she took off for our room again, to get dressed. I don't know why we're doing this "don't see the bride in her dress thing," anyway. I mean, you described the thing already, I pretty much knows what it looks like, and I like Jack, but you know, I'd much rather watch you get dressed than him.

"How you doing, man?" Jack asked me, as we settled into the chairs on the balcony overlooking the first French Louis XIV fountain and had more coffee. It is nicer than the second one, that one's a little grandiose for my tastes.

"Good. I was nervous as hell, yesterday and this morning, but I feel better now that Bones admitted she's feeling jittery, too. She's so good at hiding that kind of stuff, you never really can be sure with her."

Jack smiled, that occasionally obnoxious smile he gets when he thinks he knows something you don't. I didn't know what it was, but I was just feeling so relaxed, I decided not to press it. "Glad to hear it. You just stay chill, brother."

We yakked about the upcoming hockey season, and looked at the schedule to see when all the games against my hometown team would be, and marked them down so I could make sure I didn't schedule any department meetings on those dates. I'd look like an ass if I canceled my own meeting to go to a hockey game. Then we went next door to watch the first half of the football game, until it was time to change.

I don't know why you needed three hours to change, but whatever floats your steamboat, Bones. It only took _me_ forty-five minutes to shower and shave again, after I broke out my new razor. A new razor is a lucky razor. Jack and Angela's bathtub is even bigger than the one in our room, by the way.

Jack was laughing at me as he came back in to finish trimming his beard over at the second sink. "Dude, Old Spice?"

"Bones likes it."

"Well, that's all that matters."

"You're one to talk. I mean, Aramis?"

"Ange says it turns her on."

"There you go."

"Jared's meeting us there, right?"

"Yeah. He's staying at the hotel with my parents, it didn't make any sense to have him come here, and anyway, we've sort of made up since Bones kneed him in the balls, but he's just my accidental blood brother, not my intentional one."

Jack has a really sweet smile when he's crying, did you know that? After we'd finished blubbering, I handed him a cold washcloth as I made one up for myself.

"Bro, You have snot in your beard."

"Bro, you have snot still running from your nose."

"Jackass."

"Jerkface. So, what's this story about Dr. B. kneeing your brother? This I have to hear."

"You should have seen it. Man, it was hot, although if you tell Bones that I'll shoot you. My brother dropped in with only ten minutes' notice, and ..."

- - -

Cam came up just as I was finishing my bath, Ange sitting on the edge of the tub, sketching me as I finished shaving and we finished some mimosas she'd had Jenkins leave makings for.

"Ange, do you have to do that while I'm taking a bath?"

"Sweetie, you're glowing from all that hot premarital sex. You're lucky I left my camera behind."

"You're a stalker, you know."

"Hey, it could be worse. At least I leave you guys alone now that you're together."

A knock came from the door. "Camille, hi, come on in. I'm almost done. Make yourself a mimosa."

"I don't mind if I do," she smiled, and settled on the bench across from the tub. "Excited?"

"Absolutely, but not petrified like Booth."

"Cam-- she put two whole valiums in his coffee this morning."

"Good idea. Ange, didn't you see his knees knocking yesterday?"

I laughed. "Poor Booth. I overdid it all those years denying any interest in participating in an archaic, patriarchal institution. I think he thinks I'm going to run out on him before I get to the altar. But whatever gets him through the day. I don't want him so keyed up he's too tired to do the man and wife thing tonight."

Cam snorted her mimosa, spraying the floor with champagne and juice.

"Nice, Shaky, nice."

"Bren, why don't I have a nickname?" Angela asked, somewhat sadly.

Oh. I'd never actually called her her nickname to her face, I'd always just called her that in my head. "Oh, Ange, you do. I just haven't said it out loud. Booth and I call you Yente."

"After the matchmaker in Fiddler on the Roof?"

"Absolutely. Yente."

She burst into a proud smirk, then, and poured another round of drinks. "That's a good one, calls for some more glug-glug-wahoo!"

Cam went then to go lay out the dresses, and Ange handed me a towel as I stood to get out of the bath. "Oh, sweetie, you're going to look so beautiful."

"I'm just glad I put another three pounds back on."

"Bren. You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and you know I am an authority on this, so just believe me, okay?"

I sniffled. It was nice to hear, even if it wasn't true. "Thanks, Yente." I came out into the bedroom, my towel wrapped around me, and Angela pulled me by the hand further into the room.

"Okay, now sit here while I do your toenails."

"Angela, that's blue!"

"It's silvery blue, and you have to have something blue, it's tradition."

"I'm going to look like I have frostbite," I whined, but Cam just smirked and said "No, frostbite's darker than that. You'll just look like you have chillblains."

"Cam!"


	35. Chapter 35

Jenkins came back and shooed us out after the hour was almost up, and I'd just finished tying my tie and adjusting the holster

Jenkins came back and shooed us out after the hour was almost up, and I'd just finished tying my tie and adjusting my spiffy new socks. I'm leaving my weapons behind today.

"Very nice tie, cumberbund, and socks, Seeley."

Jack laughed. "I don't know where Vincenzo came up with them, but he's got ceruleuan, silver, white and grey paisley boxers to match."

"You're just jealous, Jack, that you don't look so spiffy."

"Come on, man, let's go. I've got your 'Stang out front. But you're not driving. You concentrate on staying chill, alright?"

- - -

Angela and Cam had dressed already, the silvery blue and pale yellow of the dresses complementing their dark hair and skin tones. They'd painted their own toenails blue, in "chillblains solidarity, as Cam said. I was finishing scrunching and spraying my curls so they'd be more pronounced as they came back in to do their own makup, and I started mine.

"Bren, isn't that your Wonder Woman eyeshadow?"

"He likes it," I said, curling my lashes and applying the first coat of mascara.

"He liked that costume, too," Cam leered. "You were practically popping out of that top."

"It's an accurate replica of Linda Carter's costume," I said. "I can't help it if the design is such that my breasts just look fabulous. Besides, he really prefers the boots."

Angela's mouth dropped open as I shocked her again. This is fun, even if it's not true-- we haven't gotten around to the boots yet, and don't think I didn't see you ogling me after we got back to the lab that night.

"Grace!" gasped Cam. "You didn't..."

I smirked. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. And maybe I have a story about my Amazonium bracelets..."

"Bren!!"

- - -

And then it was time to put on my dress. Angela and Cam held the collar away from my face as I slipped it over my head, Cam coming around to zip up the side, then standing in front of me.

"Here," she said, handing me the silver bracelet she often wore. "Something borrowed-- it was my grandmother's. She wore it at her wedding, was married for 65 years, and lived until she was 90, when she passed in her sleep. It's good luck."

"Oh, Cam," I sighed, and gave her a hug, surprised all over again at how much things had changed, for the better, with all of our friends, even with this thing looming over us. "Thank you so much, I promise I will take the best care of it."

Angela had gotten her camera and was taking a picture as I was hugging Cam, so then she set up the timer and we took some silly photographs of the three of us before I went back into the bathroom to put my veil in my hair. Ange was sighing as she took pictures of my finishing up, when there was a knock at the door.

Jenkins came in, saying, "I have seen the gentlemen off, so ladies, your chariot awaits. Temperance, may I offer you my escort to the door?"

I took his arm, and fluttered my eyelashes at him. "But of course. How could I say no to the epitome of suave attention?"

He laughed, and replied as we descended the stairs. "Have I told you about the time that I escorted Jackie Onassis to the Monaco Royal Ball one time when Aristotle was laid up with the gout?"

- - -

And then we were there, Ange and Cam taking my elbows as I mounted the steps. I stood admiring the larger version of the invitation that Angela had designed, which had been framed in a platinum frame, and set on an easel standing just outside the door to the sanctuary.

On a piece of cream-colored parchment, deckle-edged like a page from a volume of poetry or an ancient history, inside a sepia and cerulean border in an interlocking series of circles that overlapped and touched in the center, was the printed reality of what we were doing, announced to the world in navy and chocolate brown ink.

_Seeley Michael Booth  
__and  
__Temperance Joy Brennan  
__invite you to join them as they celebrate  
__the fourth anniversary of their partnership,  
__and the first day of their marriage.  
__Please join them as they commence a new partnership,  
__as Seeley and Temperance Booth-Brennan._

_Earth's the right place for love:  
I don't know where it's likely to go better_.  
_R. Frost, "Birches"_

Earth is the right place for love. I sent up my wish that the best and worst part of the poem reflected-- "_May no fate willfully misunderstand me/ __And half grant what I wish and snatch me away/ Not to return./ Earth's the right place for love/I don't know where it's likely to go better_."

When I opened my eyes, I could see you, down at the end of the sanctuary, coming in with Jack and your brother. The pews and the altar were decorated with silver ribbons, tying closed arrangements of herbs and flowers I knew you would recognize-- anyone who was a literature and poetry minor would be conversant with the language of flowers. It was something I'd thought of last week and asked the florist to arrange. I'll admit I'm often too preoccupied with clinical pursuits to be as thoughtful about romantic gestures as you are, but this one seemed right, a veritable display of our partnership in flowers.

My father came back out of the sanctuary then, as Cam and Ange settled my veil at my back and in front of my face, and gasped as he came over to meet me. "Oh, honey. Just like your mother." Coming forward, he grasped my hands, his eyes moist, and kissed me through the veil. "I won't move your veil, that's for your boy to do. You've never looked more beautiful."

And then I felt a tug at my hem, and an excited "Dr. Bones!"

I turned to kneel, and smiled up at Rebecca and Brent. "Hhe looks great, thank you so much," I said, and Rebecca bent to kiss me on the cheek before Brent led her in.

"Parker, that is a snazzy paisley tie and a really sharp cumberbund. Did your dad pick those out for you?"

He nodded vigorously. "I have socks, too, see!" He proudly pulled up his pants legs to show me the matching knit socks, and Cam and Ange burst into laughter.

"You ready to help with this, pal?" He nodded, and my father came over, bending forward, to hand Parker the blue and brown braided ribbon on which our wedding bands hung.

Parker solemnly took it, holding it in his hand, as he bent forward to kiss my father on the cheek, and say, "Thanks, Grandpa Max."

And then, it was time, and the organ music stopped, and the cello began playing "_In Your Eyes_." Cam pushed Parker up the aisle, then started herself. Ange shot me a look over her shoulder, so I said "Denial is only a river in Egypt," startling a laugh from her that floated back as I took my father's arm.

"Ready, Temperance?"

"Like I've been waiting forever."

- - -

I was in the choir room with Jared and Jack, making sure we had the rings to give to your father for Parker, and not feeling nervous at all. I was totally keyed up yesterday, but now that it was here, I was actually feeling calmer than I thought I would.

Jared, admiring the rings, "Why'd you choose platinum for the bands, Seel?"

Jack quirked an eyebrow. Of course, he'd understood as soon as I'd told him what we wanted, but he let me reply.

"Platinum is the most valuable metal, more precious than gold, the most corrosion resistant. It is stronger than any one metal alone, stronger than the sum of the metals that make up its parts. It's used for artistic and industrial works-- an endlessly versatile metal. It's nearly impossible to scratch, withstands high heat that would melt other metals, and resists hammering with ordinary or even extraordinary force. Just like our partnership."

"Still a poetry minor."

"Always."

"You're a blessed man, Seel. I'm happy for you. And not just because your wife would kick my ass if I wasn't."

"Thanks, Jared."

Your dad stuck his head in, then, and lit up when he saw me. His Charm Smile is almost as good as mine. "Boy!" He called, as he crossed the room.

"Max," I mock-growled, since he was all disappointed the one time I didn't act like I hated being called "Boy."

We hugged, like a father and son, albeit killer fathers and sons, and I didn't frisk him, and he turned his back to the room, trusting me to watch over his shoulder. When we pulled apart, he grasped my arms and looked me in the eye. "I meant what I said," he said, his eyes moist.

"I know you did, Max. I appreciate it."

"Never again."

"Never have, never will."

And then he let go, and put his hands on my face, and pulled me down to plant a kiss on my forehead. "You're a good boy, only the best for my little girl. I'm proud to call you my son."

And then he was gone, slipped out of the room before Jack and Jared even knew he'd turned and gone. I'll say it again-- I hope I move that fast when I'm his age.

Jack patted his pockets for the rings, then said, "He must have taken them, the old thief, but I'll be damned if I know how...", then stuck his head out into the sanctuary, and came back in, offering the family salute. Returning it, we then walked out to take our places at the altar, as I took in the arrangement of flowers you had to have designed. For me, for you, for us-- it summed up our partnership completely. I wondered if anyone else would understand. Acalia for Temperance, and oak leaves for strength. Yellow chrysanthemums, for sighted love, chestnut leaves for justice. Silvery green rosemary, for remembrance, and blue heliotrope, for devotion. There were green-yellow Bells of Ireland, for luck, and white snowdrops, for consolation and hope. Last, there were feathery green fennel fronds, again for strength, blue forget-me-nots, for true love, and two eglantine roses, signifying old wounds, now healed. Anyone who says you're not a romantic, Bones? Just point them out to me, I'll take care of it.

Parker had arrived, and moved to stand next to me, a look of pride on his face as he waved the ribbon with the rings at me. "Good job, Bub," I mouthed, as I turned to see Angela and Camille arrive, to stand opposite us, smiling like attending angels.

Jack leant in to murmur, "Ready, Seeley?"

"Like I've been waiting forever."

- - -

I entered the rear of the sanctuary with my father, my hand slightly shaking on his arm. He gave it a squeeze, and said, "Only the best for your boy, and only the best for my little girl."

We stepped forward, then, as the cellist repeated the last verse of the song, the part that ends "_I am complete_," and I made my way past our friends and our family, who we'd loved and protected, and who'd loved and protected us in return, and was stunned to see not just the friends we'd invited, but so many of "our" partnership's families. The Ellers. Margaret and the boys. Megan and her parents. Kyle Richardson, his boy squirming a little in the pew. There were nearly two dozen of our families, there to celebrate with us. My hand spasmed on my father's arm, as Andy waved at me, now a toddler and smiling his same special smile. My father leant over and whispered. "Jack and Angela thought they would want to bear witness to a happy event on your fourth Anniversary."

And then I looked forward, at you, the most beautiful man in the world, and our eyes met as you finished scanning the crowd, a look of pride, and amazement, and love in your smile, that I'm sure was the mirror of mine as my steps firmed, my heart quickened, and I resisted the urge to run toward you. Temperance, Temperance, I reminded myself. There will be time for immoderation later, after the guests have all gone.

- - -

I looked down the aisle, and saw you shining there, next to your father, paused on the doorway, looking ready and willing and eager. The congregation rose as you began to process, and the movement caught my eye as I realized there were more people in the pews than we'd put on the list. Before they'd done turning, my automatic tendency to sweep the room let me see them all in in an instant. The Ellers. Margaret and the boys. Megan and her parents. Carol and Andy, Kyle Richardson, his boy squirming a little in the pew. There were nearly two dozen of "our" families, there to celebrate with us. I turned to Jack, and he smiled and said, "Happy Anniversary, brother."

So I smiled, and turned back, and looked forward at you, the most beautiful woman in the world, flanked by the crowd of all of our families, and saw the look of pride, amazement, and love in your smile, that I'm sure was the mirror of mine as my knees straightened, my heart quickened, and I resisted the urge to run toward you. Temperance, Seeley, I reminded myself. There's plenty of time for immoderation, after the guests have all gone.

- - -

As we held hands, facing one another, the priest read the invocation, followed by Angela, with the reading we'd agreed would be first.

"From Sonnets from the Portuguese, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnet Twenty-Two," she began,

_When our two souls stand up erect and strong,  
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,  
Until the lengthening wings break into fire  
At either curved point,—what bitter wrong  
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long  
Be here contented? Think. In mounting higher,  
The angels would press on us and aspire  
To drop some golden orb of perfect song  
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay  
Rather on earth, Beloved,—where the unfit  
Contrarious moods of men recoil away  
And isolate pure spirits, and permit  
A place to stand and love in for a day,  
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it._

The prayers continued, and we knelt for the readings from the twenty-third psalm, and the traditional letter from Paul to the Corinthians, and then Jack ascended the pulpit to read the Apache wedding blessing you'd found.

_Now you will feel no rain,  
For each of you will be shelter to the other.  
Now you will feel no cold,  
For each of you will be warmth to the other.  
Now there is no more loneliness,  
For each of you will be companion to the other.  
Now you are two bodies,  
But there is one life before you.  
Go now to your dwelling place,  
To enter into the days of your togetherness.  
And may your days be good and long upon the earth.  
_

We knelt again, as the priest read out the reading from Revealations we'd both agreed we hoped would bring this second partnership we were now beginning to an end, so we could live to enjoy a third one: "_And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away_."

And then your father read the final reading, before our vows began.

"Shakespeare's Twenty-Fifth Sonnet," he called, his voice fierce and ringing.

_Let those who are in favour with their stars  
Of public honour and proud titles boast,  
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars  
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.  
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread  
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,  
And in themselves their pride lies buried,  
For at a frown they in their glory die.  
The painful warrior famoused for fight,  
After a thousand victories once foiled,  
Is from the book of honour razed quite,  
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:  
Then happy I, that love and am beloved,  
Where I may not remove nor be removed._

_- - - _

The priest went through the traditional vows, as we stood, my eyes feasting on your face through your veil, your eyes shining and your smile jubilant. And then it was time.

"Will you, Seeley Michael Booth, take this woman, Temperance Joy Brennan, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, forsaking all who would tear you apart, as long you both may live?"

Any vow I had ever made fell away, and I willed my voice to sound as strong as my love for you.

"I will."

- - -

I stood, your hands clasped strongly in mine, my eyes tracing the strength and the tenderness in your face. And then it was time, as your voice rang with the same depth of devotion that I feel for you.

"Will you, Temperance Joy Brennan, take this man, Seeley Michael Booth, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, forsaking all who would tear you apart, as long as you both may live?"

I have never made a vow-- I don't believe in them. But I believe in you, so I willed my voice to mirror the faith and the trust I have in you.

"I will."

- - -

And then it was time for our vows. We'd agreed not to share them with each other, and I wondered what you would say when I was done. So I looked you in the eye, as I gave your hands a squeeze, and began.

"Temperance Joy, immoderate happiness, immoderate sorrow, contradictory blessing and gift. You are not just a finder of truth, but a healer of hearts. Your cleareyed acceptance, your calm understanding, the way you make others passions your own-- your wide open heart-- your dedication to the expansion of knowledge, in the deep-held belief that the enemy of happiness is not only cruelty, but ignorance-- your strength in the face of horrors, your determination and persistence when all light has failed, and others despair-- your willingness to sacrifice your own comfort, morality, and life for the benefit of others-- your light, which casts no shadows, but illuminates truth and beauty, and leaves lies and indecency nowhere to hide-- for these reasons, Temperance, my own, I promise.

I promise to never leave you of my own will-- to let your drive every once in a while-- to lend you my strength in our search for justice, and our need to eliminate threats if we must-- to not roll my eyes at the phrase "anthropologically speaking," -- to cherish your loved ones, as you've made them my own-- to keep my heart and mind open to truth, and to not rush to judgment-- and to hold the center as long as I may.

My funny, brilliant, beautiful Bones, your unquestioning acceptance, your grace under pressure, your insistence on excellence and truth, your love and your tenderness are the greatest gifts of my life, and I pledge you my heart, my love, and my strength as we continue our life's work, always together."

You gave me the most beatiful smile I've yet to see, and squeezed my hands back, then responded.

"Seeley Michael-- do you know what your name means? Michael is easy-- your saint's name, your avocation, like Archangel Michael, a warrior defending the innocent, and meting out justice to the foes of pease and contentment, comfort and love. There is no question you have proven yourself worthy of this name, time and again.

But Seeley-- do you know what it means? It comes from the German, Selig, meaning blessed, or fortunate, or lucky. And fortunate is what I am, blessed to know you and love you, Seeley, to earn your trust and to be allowed to partner you in work and in life. Everyone for whom you work on Michael's behalf is fortunate, blessed, but I count myself most luck of all, to have been granted the grace, or the Providence, or the Serendipity of being allowed to be your helpmeet, your partner, and love. I count myself most fortunate, for your persistence, your patience, your passion, and the partnership we have forged in pursuit of our mutual goals. For these reasons, Seeley Michael, I promise.

I promise to honor Parker as the child of my body, for he is already the child of my heart-- to make you Mac and Cheese and Chocolate pudding whenever you want-- to keep sacred your secrets, as you cherish mine-- to keep you in cashmere socks in colors that hurt my eyes for our lifetime together-- to honor your dedication to duty, above your own needs-- to only make you eat tofu once a month-- to always tell you the truth, as I always have-- to continue to listen, and accept, believe and support-- and to hold the center as long as I may.

My valiant and charming, wonderful Booth, your unfaltering presence, your boundless love, your fierce soul, your mercy and tenderness left me no choice but to love you, my fortunate warrior, and to pledge you my strength and devotion to what is my fight and yours. There is no other conclusion-- I have no doubt. There is only honor, and trust, faith, and love."

The priest was speaking, and we managed the parts about giving one another our rings, Parker handing them to us in turn, as we proclaimed "I thee wed," but I was so overwhelmed by what you had said that I didn't really come back to myself until I heard the priest finish the best part of all.

"Seeley, and Temperance, having given your vows to be witnessed by God and your loved ones, I now pronounce you man and wife."

I'm sure he said the "you may kiss the bride" part, but my hands were already moving to lift your veil, you stepping toward me, meeting me halfway, as you always do, your hand around my neck and my hand at your bare back. Looking down at you, I said, "Hello, Mrs. Booth," and you replied, "Hello, Mr. Brennan," as our lips met in our first married kiss, and the world disappeared as we shared the purest, most passionate kiss of all, so far.

When we parted, there were smiles and tears and smirks and leers on the faces and in the eyes of our families, as I pulled your arm through mine and we started down the aisle. I know I was smiling deliriously, and your eyes were shining like the sun, as our families clapped, and yelled, and whooped and hollered as we passed them. And then we were out the door, and out on the stairs in the bright sunshine, and I picked you up and twirled you around, ignoring the fact that you were swatting at me because I was making you dizzy. I wanted you to feel as dizzy as I did, because you were finally, fully, _my_ Bones.

When I put you down, and steadied you as you staggered a bit, you pulled me down for another perfect kiss. Then, letting go, you whispered two words that had my mother wondering for days why we were bent over in laughter on the front steps, tears streaming from our eyes as we remembered again your third, and hopefully last, narrow escape.

"Goose poop."


	36. Chapter 36

Eventually, we finished greeting our own partnership's families and taking photos out in the garden behind the church. You'd been trailing your hand up and down my back nonstop since I'd rid myself of the veil, until I shivered and hissed "Stop it, you'll have time for that later and I'd really rather not have my knees give out here."

You laughed and trailed your hand under the hem at the base of my spine, leaning in to whisper, "If you think I'm not taking you from behind while you're still wearing this dress, you're crazy." Angela probably has a photo of me grabbing your jacket as my knees did then give way. Evil man. I'll get you back later today, never doubt it.

"Lech."

"Seductress."

"Insatiable."

"Goddess."

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," interrupted Sully, who'd joined Cam outside with us after the service. "No, no, Mrs. Booth, love of my life, no, no, Mr. Brennan, love of my life. Can we go start drinking now?"

Your smile widened when we got back to the car. They'd tied plastic bones and handcuffs to the bumper, and taped a "Just Partners, Just Married" sign to the rear window.

"That looks like Lance's writing," I said. Looking over, I saw Sweets on the stairs, his arm around Anne, looking on expectantly. "Now Seeley, tell him thank you," I warned.

Grinning, you shot him a smile and gave him a thumbs up, which made him grin from ear to ear. Turning back to me, you said, "Maybe we should take the kids on a double date. I don't think they've done the deed yet."

"Booth. Let Sweets take it at his own pace. Besides, I caught Anne grabbing his rear end at the barbecue. If they haven't, it'll be any day now."

"Rear end? Behind? Bones, you can say the word 'ass,' you know," you said, pulling me in for a kiss that left me gasping as you dipped me so low my hair brushed the sidewalk. Letting me up, you grinned, and pulled out the car keys, dangling them in the air for a moment before holding them out to me. Grinning, I walked you to the passenger side of the car to let you in, then came around to my side to the laughter of those of our friends in on the joke.

I started the car, pulled away from the curb, and eyes still on the road, reached over to grab you through your pants, as I said, "Listen to that fine-tuned transmission."

"Agh! Bones! Are you trying to kill me?"

- - -

Only the fact that you were driving and I didn't want you to crash my new 'Stang on the way to the reception kept me from dragging the wheel over to make you stop the car so I could make you shut up about "wood grain paneling" and "white walled tires." Jesus, Bones. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?

- - -

We beat everyone back to the house, but Jenkins shooed us out into the garden outside the ballroom because the food and the band were still not set up. "Here," he said, ice bucket, champagne, and glasses in hand as he led us out into the gardens, "Amuse yourselves for a bit, I'll come out and get you once the rest start to arrive." He pulled a blanket out of I don't know where, and shook it out on the grass underneath a grape arbor, then winked and said, "Can't have the bride and groom covered in suspicious grass stains before the reception even begins, now can we?" and turned on his heel, striding off back to the house. Bones, I want a Jenkins. Do you think Jack and Angela will share?

I flopped down onto the blanket, and pulled the champagne bucket over. "C'mon, Bones, time to start running up the bar bill before our alcoholic friends and family arrive and drink us dry." You smiled and knelt, pulling your feet in to sit sideways.

"I think that went well," you said, taking a sip from the glass I'd handed you. "I even made it through the ceremony without being struck by lightning."

"Wouldn't have happened. There were at least six guys with guns there, even the Big Guy knows better." You laughed, and finished your glass.

"More?"

"No, not yet." You lay back, then, hands behind your head, your loose hair falling around you on the blanket. Sighing, you turned your head to smile at me. "It's a beautiful day-- it should stay warm enough later so we can dance on the patio."

"Jenkins said they have heaters, so as long as it doesn't rain, we're all set. You alright? You look a little tired."

You smiled again. "No, I'm fine. Just nice to have a little quiet before the next round of antiquated rituals begins." I finished my glass and lay down next to you, pulling you over to rest your head on my chest. We lay there, looking up at the sky and smelling the herbs from the garden.

"Your friends are all staying the night here, aren't they?"

"Mmm-hmm. We were going to play football with whomever else is left tomorrow after brunch, maybe go for a bit of a hike. Hodgins said there's conservation land on the other side of the big lake."

"Sounds nice. I was going to take your mother and Parker out in one of the rowboats-- your Dad might come too."

Thinking aloud, I said, "It was so nice of Jack and Angela to let us do this here."

You laughed. "Well, Angela wouldn't stand for us doing it elsewhere, if it meant she couldn't stalk us every single minute."

"True, very true."

Raising your arm, you pointed and said, "Look! A femur!" I squinted-- so it was, a femur. Wait. Did I just squint? Great-- I've been married not even three hours and I'm already squinting. Thanks a lot, Bones.

"Bones, you're such a nerd."

You slapped my chest. "Too late to discover that now. You're stuck with me, pal." I kissed the top of your head, looked up, squinted.

"Look, a mandible." It really _was_ jawbone-shaped.

"Oil filter."

"Scapula."

"Firing pin."

"Sternum."

"Booth, it looks more like a clavicle to me."

"Fine. But that-- that one is clearly an occipital knob."

"Yes, it is," you said, your hand drifting down to slide under the waistband of my pants.

"Bones, if you start that, we are definitely going to miss the reception."

You turned your head up to look at me, and pouted. "But I love it when you say '_occipital_,' Seeley."

"Plenty of time for distal phalanges later, wife." Heh. Wife. I just called you wife, and it's official, now. Wife.

"You're too good to me, husband." More heh. You just called me husband.

We lay there a bit longer, until we heard voices approaching. "Sweeties? Where are you?"

"Under the arbor in the _potager_," you called. Potager? Is that what they call a fancy vegetable garden? The other half of our little family appeared around the edge of the framework, carrying two more champagne glasses.

"Jenkins sent us out," explained Jack. "We beat everyone else back besides you two, and he's still not happy with the bar arrangement, so he kicked us out and told us to come make sure you weren't getting grass-stained."

"I tried," you said, "but Seeley's being a party pooper." Bones! Are you making sex jokes outside the bedroom? I need to make you drink champagne on a regular basis, clearly.

I scooted us back, pulling you so your head was in my lap as I pulled up to rest back on one elbow, the other playing with your hair. "Pull up a blanket, best gal and best man. And pour the champagne... Bones isn't drinking enough for me to take advantage of her later."

You pulled my hand to your mouth and bit it, a frisky look in your eye. "Maybe I want to take advantage of _you_ later. Drink up, Seeley, my boy."

Jack and Angela laughed, and sat, Jack pouring us each another glass. When we'd finished the bottle, they lay back on the blanket, Jack's head in Angela's lap, and the sounds of the band tuning behind us.

"Scarab beetle."

"Pallette knife."

"Handcuffs."

"Vedic Stupa." Wait. Isn't that one of those Indian sex sculpture thingies? Bones, your mind is really in the gutter today.

"Chisel."

"Hexagonal crystalline structure."

"Hand grenade."

"I hate to interrupt this vocabulary-strewn idyll," came Jenkins' voice, "but your guests have begun to arrive, and are already laying bets on whether the bride and groom will even appear."

You rolled to your side and looked up, shooting Jenkins a grin straight out of Vegas. "What are the odds?"

People had gathered on the patio, lined up at the three bars and around the tables and chairs around the edge of a dance floor, picking at the starters Jenkins had set out. Everyone was drinking and talking as the band started to play old standards, we four trailing up from the garden, you and Angela holding hands and Jack and I trading leers as we ogled your respective behinds as we followed. God, Bones, the back on that dress. It stops just short of the curve of your gorgeous ass. I'm going to kill anyone who looks at you too long.

There were some catcalls as we came up the stairs onto the patio. "What, you couldn't stay gone ten more minutes?" called Sully. "I bet Dumbass here you two would disappear for longer."

"Sorry," you said. "I'm just too good a hostess."

Sully shot me a look, then said, "May I kiss the bride?"

I threw up my hands in mock dismay. "Ask her. She always does what she wants anyway."

You laughed and pulled Sully in for a quick hug and chaste kiss, then backed off and said, "I'm saving the tongue for Camille."

Sully smirked. "You just tell me when, and I'll start selling tickets." He was ogling your back, so I pulled you into my lap at the table, making sure your back was against my chest. _My_ Bones' lower back. _Mine_.

Clark wandered over, the rest of the Squint Squad and Sweets in two, he and Sweets carrying a bottle of scotch and some glasses. Setting them down on the table, he smiled, and started pouring shots, handing them around to Cam, Jack and Ange, Sully, Sweets and Anne, and with a flourish, to us.

Raising his glass, he began.

"To the Squint Squad and the Bureau Brigade. The bad guys can run, but they can't hide from microscopes and scanners, gut instincts and pavement-pounding. And to Mom and Dad."

"Mom and Dad," they all repeated, laughing, as we all downed our shots.

"Damned whippersnappers," I grumbled, and they all laughed again.

You pulled the bottle over then, motioning for everyone to hold out their glasses. When you'd finished pouring the next round, you set down the bottle and raised your glass.

"To brothers and sisters in arms, true friends in time of need, shoulders to cry on, hands to hold and smiles to share. May there be more laughs, more smiles, more convictions, many more years of teamwork."

"Teamwork," we all repeated. Hmm. That's good scotch.

Cam quirked an eyebrow at you then, and you nodded. You pushed the bottle toward her, and she took it, emptying the bottle among all of our glasses. Smiling widely, she raised her glass, and said, "To Clark, if he'll have us." His face split into a grin.

"Really?" The kid's so cute when he smiles, Bones. I hope he and Amelia work out.

"Really," Cam said, then clinked her glass against his.

"To Stretch, Clark, Edison, Dumbass," we said, each calling him by our preferred name. I've never seen someone look so happy to be called a Dumbass before.

- - -

We wandered around, saying hello, sometimes together and sometimes apart. I saw you standing over with Steven and my buddies, knocking back more shots that I'm sure didn't affect you at all, and they were all smiling at you, dopey in love. Parker was running around, working on a box of animal cookies Jenkins came up with, and demanding "pony rides" from every guy in the place. At one point I saw him yelling with glee as your Dad took off with him on his shoulders, and ran around the nearby fountain a few times.

After about an hour, Jenkins appeared in the doorway, looking grave and formal in the tux that he'd donned, a departure from his usual jeans and Hawaiian shirts and Chuck Taylors. He rang a bell until everyone fell silent, casting a stern glance at the crowd before solemnly saying, "Grub's up, y'all. Come and get it." His staid affect didn't waver as he turned and walked back into the house, as everyone howled with laughter.

"Jack, where the hell did he come from?"

"I could tell you, but I'd have to shoot you."

"Hey! That's my line!"

- - -

I was glad we'd decided to dispense with waiters and table service-- we didn't have too many guests, and with the buffet, everyone was getting up to wander around visiting other tables between seconds and thirds. I saw lots of people carrying whole trays of beers, or bottles of wine or alcohol back to the tables, and everyone seemed to be having a great time. We got to talk with everyone, though I didn't really eat much, which was fine with me because I'd eaten a lot earlier, and was relieved to not be having you watch every mouthful I ate, for once.

I was sitting with Rebecca and Brent and your mother, Parker sprawled across "Grandma's" lap when you caught up with me.

"What are you plotting," you said, smiling as you came to stand behind me, your hand on the back of my neck.

Rebecca spoke up. "Brent and I were thinking of going on vacation the week before and after Christmas, and were wondering if you'd like to take Parker. Temperance already said yes."

Your eyes lit up, and Parker's face mirrored your own. "That would be great, right buddy?"

Parker nodded. "Jamaica doesn't have snow, and Bones said she hasn't made a snowman in _forever_."

"Well, that settles it then," said Brent. "Mai Tais for me and Rebecca, snowmen for you three."

- - -

You surprised the hell out of me when dinner was over. I hadn't paid too much attention to the menu stuff once it was clear Jack and Angela were happy to care of it, so when the food was all cleared, I expected them to bring out a wedding cake. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that they were setting something up over where dinner had been, but I was busy smelling your hair as you sat on my lap to really pay heed until you put down your champagne, turned and stood, and tugged me up by the hand. "Come on, Mr. Brennan. Time for a variation on a traditional ritual for you." And then you tugged me across the floor to where they'd been setting up the -- Oooh. Wow. Pretty. Oooh, Bones.

"Bones! How many kinds of pie are there?!"

"All your favorites."

"But, Bones, I don't _have_ a favorite kind of pie."

"I know. I just got every kind of pie I've ever seen you eat."

It was beautiful. Not as beautiful as you, but at least as beautiful as the new 'Stang you'd gotten me. Hmm. Maybe I could take some pie out to the car later. That would be nice, and no one would bother me. But anyway-- laid out on the table, on stands and plates and all sliced into so you could see the insides, there were apple, and cherry, and blueberry pies, lemon meriengue and key lime, Boston cream, banana cream, strawberry chiffon, and oooooh... "Anamaria's pine nut torta! Bones!"

You leant over and kissed me on the cheek. "I will try one kind of pie, not apple or lemon meriengue, and if you get any on my dress I will kill you, is that understood?"

You're so sexy when you're threatening me. Hmm. Banana cream, I decided, though nothing would be the same as the banana cream pie Sid used to make with the shortcake crust and the caramel swirled through the filling underneath all that whipped cream. God, I miss Sid. I found a fork, dug in, and gave you a bite, then had a bite for myself.

Banana-y, caramel creamy deliciousness filled my mouth. I moaned, talking with my mouth full. "Oh my God, Bones! This is as good as Sid's ever was!" God, I miss Sid's pies. Sid, too. I mean, the diner's pies are good and all, but Sid? Sid's the man.

Your eyes glinted at me. "There's a reason for that." And then you walked off, and stuck your head in the pantry door where they'd been bringing out all the food, and yelled "Hey, Sid!"

Oh my God, Bones. You got Sid to make us pie for our wedding? How'd you get him to come back from Paris? I don't know how I'm going to eat all this, I hope there's more in the kitchen, because just between my Dad and my brother and my buddies? These pies right here are all accounted for. And then, like a culinary angel, Sid appeared in the doorway.

"Seeley, my man, how you doing?"

"Sid! But... Paris! Sid! Oh my God, pie! Bones! Sid! I missed you, man!"

Smiling his enigmatic smile, Sid slapped me on the back, and said, "Well, when the good doctor told me she'd finally hit you over the head and dragged you back to your cave, and asked if I would come make the pies for the wedding, I could hardly say no, could I? I mean, half my weekly receipts were from you two for a while there."

By this time, the Squints and cops who'd frequented Wong Fu's had all cried out "Sid!", tears of joy and longing for his cooking in their eyes, and had swarmed the table, bringing along all the newbies who didn't know the deliciousness that was Sid's cooking with them. My Dad and Jared and my buddies brought up the rear, having heard the word "Pie!" shouted with glee. My Dad was starting to hone in on my banana cream pie, so I stuck my arm out behind me to shove him and Jared away as I gave Sid my best one-armed man hug, the one that says, "_Please, please, please, for the love of God please, move back so I can enjoy your delicious baked goods every day again?_" He pulled away, laughing, and said, "Sorry, man, no can do, but I'll tell you what. You get your lovely wife to give me the recipe for that incredible pudding? I'll give her the recipes for every single pie I make." Heh. He called you my wife. My wife. Heh.

"Done," you said. "I thought you might ask, so I emailed it to you already." Oh, Bones. If I didn't love you already...

I was torn between kissing you, or boosting you up onto the table and ripping your dress off so I could dump pie all over you, because the only thing that could possibly taste better than Sid's pie is Sid's pie on a plate of Bones, or fending off the hordes trying to eat all _my_ pie, that you got for _me_, but you laughed, and whispered, "there's two more of each just for you downstairs in the fridge." Good-- problem solved. I would just make sure we came downstairs later for a midnight to three a.m. snack. Or maybe four a.m., there would be a lot of pie to eat off your stomach. I've got to bribe Jenkins to keep everyone out of the kitchen, though. I hope they don't have security cameras down there.

"God, woman, I love you."

"You'd better," you shot back, and then landed a kiss on my cheek. "I'm going to go visit with your mom, enjoy your feast, Jasper."

"Oink." And then I turned, and addressed the long line of men waiting for pie. _My_ pie. That you got for _me_. Because you're my _wife_. _Mine_. Heh. "Okay, you hungry bastards. One slice at a time, and if anyone lays a utensil or hand on my banana cream pie, I will shoot you." And then, I picked up my pie, and my fork, and began to eat. Mmmph. Bones, you're totally awesome, as Sweets would say. I mean, Bones! Sid!!

- - -

I'd returned to the table with my father and Jared, Dad with an apple pie and Jared with a key lime one, and the three of us all digging in, when you came back over and settled into my lap. "Save me any?" you asked, then opened your mouth like a baby bird, making me laugh as I gave you a forkful.

"That is good. You know Sid's making brunch tomorrow, right?"

"Bones, you're the best. I mean, Sid!"

"Seeley, you keep saying that. I'm starting to think you married the wrong person today."

"No, Bones, I mean, no, but still! I mean, Sid!"

- - -

Not long after the pies were totally decimated, Jenkins and Sid shaking their heads at the carnage after they brought up the fourth round of pies, Rebecca and Brent took Parker home, and we made arrangements for Caroline and Richard to pick him up to bring him back in the morning for brunch. "See you tomorrow, Parker," I said, bending to give him a kiss. "Sleep tight, and we'll go for a boat ride after lunch, okay?"

"Is Grandma going to come in the boat?"

"Absolutely. Maybe Grandpa, too, we'll see. I might even let him row." Richard laughed, as I looked up and winked at him.

"Go tell your dad goodnight, okay?" He ran off to where you were sitting with your friends, and jumped into your lap. I didn't hear the conversation, but he was clearly entertaining the boys at your table. Turning back to Rebecca and Brent, I bid them goodnight. "Thanks so much for coming, you two."

Rebecca smiled. "You guys are going to be hard to top if Brent ever gets around to proposing to me."

"Hey!" yelled Brent. I laughed, and said, "For a small fee, I'll be glad to consult, but really, you should hire Angela and Jack, they did most of the work."

"Well," Rebecca replied, "it was lovely, and you know I already wish you two all of the best. I'll talk to you soon." You came back over then, Parker on your shoulders, and handed him over to Brent.

"Night guys, and see you tomorrow, Parks."

"Night Daddy! Night Bones!" he yelled, as Brent swung him up on his shoulders and they headed out.

"He's going to be up all night," you snorted, after they left. "I saw him have at least two pieces of pie, and I think your dad brought him another."

"He's a typical Booth, then, it seems. But you'd better hope not, or he'll be really cranky tomorrow."

"Booths are never cranky from too much pie, because there is simply no thing as too much pie. So there."

"We'll see. I'd like to see you finish all of that pie downstairs in less than a week."

"Bones, is that a bet?"

"No, simply a statement of interest."

Just then, Angela came over. "Okay, you two. We've had booze, we've had food, Booth's had obscene amounts of pie, it's time to get toasting and flower tossing and dancing." Inserting herself between us, she hooked our arms through her elbows and dragged us over to a table near the band, where Jack was standing.

Sticking his fingers in his mouth, he let out a sharp whistle, and people quieted, looking around for the noise.

"Everyone having a good time so far?" There were cries of "yes!" and whoops and whistles from the crowd, as well as a "We need more whiskey at the bar!" from the back. Jack laughed. "Sorry, Sam, we only laid in three cases, you're going to have to switch to rum."

"It's time to get the rest of the '_archaic rituals attendant on an outmoded institution'_ out of way, now that we've had the nontraditional massacre of the pies. Dr. B. has refused to throw the bouquet unless both her bridesmaids tongue-kiss their escorts, so Ange, honey, come here." Ange skipped forward, and laid a long, long kiss on Hodgins, eliciting cheers from the room. After they broke apart, Jack took a bow to the continued whoops from the crowd, and said, "Agent Sullivan, Dr. Saroyan, I believe it's your turn. And Cam, quit it with the _'just colleagues'_ thing, I saw you two dancing last night and colleagues do _not_ do the lambada." Everyone laughed, and Sully obliged, dipping Cam into a kiss that had her grabbing his lapels when she came up for air.

"Before that, though, I have a few things I'd like to say, so I may fully discharge my obligations as best man." Making a show of straightening his tie, and clearing his throat, Jack smiled over at us and began.

- - -

"The first time they worked together, he didn't believe she could determine the cause of death so quickly, and they had a vicious fight in the middle of the lab so electric it threatened to short out all the equipment, and so magnetic that I was amazed that every metal object in the room didn't come unmoored to orbit around them.

The second time they worked together, and the first time they did so as partners, she threatened to have him arrested for kidnapping her, and he actually arrested her for shooting a suspect-- though they ironed that out, and he believed her this time, and they solved the crime.

The third time they worked together, they saved over three hundred people from a terrorist bombing, though the argument they had in her office about racial profiling while investigating the suspects almost blew the roof off the lab.

And so it went-- more crimes solved, more heated fights, more banter, more intimate moments, more sexual tension and mutual frustration than in any screwball comedy ever committed to film. Some people called them Pat and Mike. Some people called them the His Girl Friday show. David and Maddy, Scully and Mulder, Lancelot and Guinevere, the list of nicknames went on. For a while, when it seemed like they'd never get together, it was Romeo and Juliet. And then, when he was shot, and we all thought we'd lost him, it seemed like we might lose her too. But he came back, and after they got over the whole "punching him out at his funeral thing," things went back to normal, mostly, though they'd been brought closer afterward by what happened with Zack. Angela was worried that Booth's fake death would ruin things, but I reminded her of the wisdom in my favorite movie, and told her, "_Death cannot stop true love. It can only delay it for a while_." I think that was when I started calling them Westley and Buttercup, though never to their faces, because I knew Booth would shoot me, and Dr. B. would karate chop me, _then_ shoot me.

See, they're not like the rest of us, and like they've cheated death uncountable times, their true love never wavered-- it was only delayed. In the movie, the last line says "_Since the invention of the kiss there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind_." Well, those of us who have had the joy of watching these two since their engagement have watched as each kiss topped the last, pure, and passionate, and as my Angela would say, "totally hot."

But back to our story-- I want to tell you a little more about these two.

Dr. B. has the most brilliant mind, the most tender soul, and has the bravest heart, I've ever encountered. Booth is the fiercest, most quick-thinking, and most valiant man I've ever had the honor to meet. Together, they're unstoppable-- literally.

Dr. B's knowledge, her drive to know more, to do more, to be more, is what keeps the rest of the Squint Squad going. Every case we solve, she's there, pushing, asking the questions that lead us to the next step, the next conclusion. We're all pretty damned smart, but it's Dr. B's passion for the answers that always brings the case home. They've handled dozens of cases between them, each of them brilliantly, but there are several that I think prove the rule that there's no stopping these two.

When we were buried alive, Dr. B. not only performed surgery on me that kept me from going into severe shock, but drove me to identify where we were from the soil in the car. She found a way to send Booth a message where no phone signal should have been found, and pushed us both to find three times more oxygen than we ever should have had. She designed a way to blow out the windshield of the car, sending up a signal that only Booth's eagle eyes could have seen. He pulled us, literally, from an early grave, but it took the two of them, pushing from both sides, to do it.

Then there was the time when Booth got blown up while guarding Dr. B. after she'd just missed being shot at. When she disappeared, he literally ripped out IVs to run from the hospital and search for her. With three broken ribs, a broken collarbone, a concussion, and a half-collapsed lung, he outpaced an entire tactical team to locate her, firing his gun and taking down her abductor before the rest of us even sighted the quarry. When he reached her, it was like the rest of us had disappeared-- all the light, all the air in the room was for them alone, the rest of us intruders on something not meant for others' eyes. It was like that every time they saved one another.

When Booth was kidnapped during an investigation, Dr. B. drove us to find his location from a series of seemingly unconnected pieces of evidence, relentlessly questioning, hectoring, demanding, until we found the truth. And then she was out the door, a look in her eye that I'd only seen before-- and only from Booth, when she'd disappeared. It was a look that said, "_If he is hurt, someone will pay_." She found him, after beating a corrupt bounty hunter to a bloody pulp to get his whereabouts (sorry Dr. B., your Dad and I were up late drinking last night and he told me), and brought him back safe. I saw that again, less than a year ago, when Booth was shot by a stalker. Dr. B. caught Booth as he fell, and while the rest of us were caught in slow motion, she pulled out the gun that he'd used to save her. With the same lethal grace, steady arm, and keen eye I've seen only in Booth, she eliminated the threat, then turned her back on that woman, and pleaded, demanded, begged him to stay. And he did.

And then, the world crashed. In the middle of September, Dr. B. went out with Booth to a scene to recover some remains. We'd been expecting them back, when Paul Rodgers came back with the body, instead of them. I was sitting in Angela's office when he came in and shut the door, and told us what had happened. Dr. B., puking up a full pint of blood, and passing out when Booth tried to get her to a gurney. We'd all hoped it was a horrible migraine, but the truth was so much worse. In the midst of it all, the horror that she might be taken from us, there was so much joy, in the way that they'd finally found each other.

Even before they'd admitted how they felt to each other, everyone around them fed from their energy, their devotion to each other and their work, basking in it like they were the sun and we were plants that couldn't grow without their light. After they'd finally confessed how they felt, though, there was no comparison. If that was the sun, well, this was a supernova. If anything, their work became even more brilliant, and all those half-conversations none of us could ever follow anyway became even more impenetrable, because now they hardly even needed to speak to know what the other was thinking. They'd just exchange one of those looks, and then announce their next brilliant leap forward.

At first, Dr. B. got better and we all heaved a sigh of relief, and amazement at the blessing they each now had found. And then she found out what was wrong, and it got worse, then much worse, and as the surgeons worked on her as we nearly lost her again, he pleaded, demanded, begged her to stay. And she did. And she has. And by God, Temperance, you'd better still, though we know the battle's not over yet. If we small satellites can lend our sun the strength to keep burning, we will, and you're welcome to all of it.

I've had the honor of counting Seeley Booth as my friend for several years now, but he's become more than that. I once admired him for the ferocious tenacity with which he fought for the ideals so many give up on, for his commitment to people who don't even know he's trying to save them. I have since come to love him as a brother for the depthless heart he has for his son, his true love, for anyone worthy enough to earn his trust and whole confidence. And I respect him as I've never had a father to respect for the way in which he blazes the forward trail, reigniting purpose and energy in those who'd given up to focus on everyday banalities.

I've had the pleasure and privilege of knowing Temperance Brennan since she first came to the Jeffersonian. At first a colleague, then friend, then mother and sister all in one as she compelled me to help her save ourselves, as she dropped everything to help Angela when her friend Kirk was murdered, and drove us to find why a sick little girl was dying of an old man's disease. She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders as heavily as her partner, and has used not just her intelligence and strength, but her money and influence to shame and cajole and compel others into saving the world, too, one foster child, one injured soldier, one war-ravaged village, one economically depressed town after another.

They complete each other, in a way that Ange and I agree we've never seen before. We cannot express our pride that these two have allowed us to call them family, to lend them what strength we've had to give as they've fought this war that's not yet over. The world should be so lucky to do the same.

Last night at dinner, Booth's father ended his paean to Temperance with their ritual family toast, "Phoenix from Ashes." I don't think there could be a more apt description of their lives since September, and even before. The mythological phoenix cannot be killed by normal means. It can be wounded, but while wounded, it still works wonders of healing by the blood and the tears dropped on those sheltering beneath its wings. When the Phoenix's time has come, it surrenders to flames so hot that none could ever survive-- except the Phoenix. When the flames die, there is darkness and destruction, from which comes light and rebirth. From a creature who has outlived its old form, emerges a new one, reborn and renewed.

From just partners to true loves-- from Booth and Bones to Seeley and Temperance-- from friends to lovers-- from health to sickness and back again, as man and wife, a Phoenix from Ashes. Westley and Buttercup, thank you for sharing your fairy tale with us, and for teaching us the meaning of true love. May you continue to stun and amaze us with your beauty and strength, your ferocity and love, for happily ever after.

Please join me in wishing Temperance and Seeley their Phoenix from Ashes, their happily ever after."

In unison, there was an almost deafening roar of "_Happily Ever After_!"


	37. Chapter 37

37

After we finished hugging Jack and crying all over him like infants, Angela dragged me over to the band, having already grabbed my bouquet to hand to me.

"What do I do?" I asked.

"Just turn your back, once everyone's all gathered, and count to three, then toss it backward over your head toward the group."

"What if I hit someone?"

"Bren, not your problem, just do it, okay? I will be on the far right, in case you want to aim someplace in particular."

"Ange, you're already engaged."

"I know, but maybe it will make Grayson finally give me that divorce," she sighed. I kissed her cheek and shoved her off to the group of women who'd gathered, making sure of the distances and angles involved to insure that the downward descent of the bouquet didn't injure anyone.

"One, two, three," I called, and then pitched the bouquet as far to the right as I could, thinking '_giveittoAnge giveittoAnge giveittoAnge_' as hard as I could before I turned to see where it landed. I was becoming more superstitious every day, it seemed. It fell in a perfect arc toward Angela, and in slow motion, she opened her hands and the flowers fell neatly in. '_Thanks_,' I thought, before she could even begin to squeal.

- - -

You'd insisted that our first dance be to Ray Lamontagne's "Trouble," and you were singing the lyrics in your sweet, tuneless voice as we danced. "_Trouble been doggin' my soul since the day I was born…Worry... Worry just will not seem to leave my mind alone/ We'll I've been...saved by a woman/I've been…/saved by a woman_…" The rest of the room disappeared as you held me as closely as I held you, my hand along your cheek and your hand on my back, occasionally letting go long enough to spin me, like we'd danced in Aurora. But I always came back to you, and I always would. "_She won't let me go/She won't let me go now…_" you sang, and I nestled my head in your shoulder, sighing. You aren't the only one who's been saved—you saved me, too.

- - -

My father'd been watching from the side of the floor as we danced. Out of the corner of my eye, I'd seen Angela sitting in Jack's lap, blowing her nose and smiling and crying all at once, as Jack rubbed at his nose, claiming "allergies." The song was just ending as we spun, and catching sight of my father, you smiled and listened as the notes of the next song started. "Twirl, Bones," you said, so I spun, holding onto your hand until I reached my father. His quick reflexes kicked in, and he caught me just as you let go, his arm coming around me as we moved back out onto the floor.

"Hi, honey," he said, as Angela sobbed loudly and blew her nose like a foghorn from where she was sitting. We both laughed, but he recovered in more than enough time to catch the first lines of the song. "_I've been thinkin' 'bout/ All the times you told me/ You're so full of doubt/ You just can't let it be_…"

So I sniffled, and he smiled, and when the song was over, he kissed me on the forehead and said, "Just like your mother," before walking me back over to you.

- - -

The band was really good, and we took turns dancing with all our guests, as the band moved from old standards to more recent slow songs, then started to add in some of the "glug-glug-woo-hoo" songs that Angela demanded. Before that started, though, I was dancing with Caroline Julian.

Her first words to me when we got out on the floor were, "About damned time."

"Caroline!"

"Booth. Please. Anyone who flies to New Orleans and drags my tired old behind down there, too, is not just partners. Especially when the partner looks like your lovely wife. And I knew you didn't swing the other way, so you either had to be blind, or stupid."

I just laughed. "I would never contradict a Julian." (Seeley! That's _my_ line!)

She smirked. "You never did thank me for that mistletoe, now. I am taking some credit for the completely poleaxed look both of you had on your faces when you two were done."

"Thank you, Caroline," I said, giving her my best '_please stop harassing me here in front of everyone_' Charm Smile, but she just snorted.

"Booth, I'm too old for that. Now tell me what you know about that good looking Mr. Jenkins."

That, Bones, is going to be interesting.

- - -

The band had a male and a female vocalist, and were starting to play things "you youngsters like," as Jenkins had said after I'd made introductions between he and Caroline. He'd smiled and bowed over her hand, then looked at her more closely.

"Pardon me for asking, Miss Julian, but didn't you once tour as a backup singer for Miss Aretha Franklin?"

"Why yes, I did, Mr. Jenkins. How did you know?"

"I don't know if you recall that one show in Chicago when Miss Franklin shared a bill with Smokey Robinson..."

"I do! Wait … you were the road manager…"

"I was," he replied, then offered her his arm. "Shall we repair to the bar to reminisce about old times?"

Aretha Franklin, Bones? No wonder Caroline doesn't take any guff.

- - -

Booth, I'm sorry, but I am not going to explain to you why every woman in the room is instantly drawn to the dance floor when Abba's "_Dancing Queen_" begins to play. You don't have a uterus, you're incapable of understanding. You just stand there with your friends and stare while I dirty dance with Anne and Amelia.

- - -

Sully and Jack and I were laughing our asses off when you and Cam boxed in Sweets and started running your hands down his sides when "_It's Raining Men_" came on. He looked thrilled and terrified all at once. Poor kid. I'm going to have to take him out shopping for snazzier boxers. That'll put some steel in his spine.

- - -

I've got to say, Caroline and Jenkins did a fabulous version of "_Ain't No Mountain High Enough_", and I especially enjoyed when you surreptitiously grabbed me when you come back in from a spin. Damn, Bones.

- - -

"Seeley…"

"What, Bones?"

"Look in the corner."

"Is that Jeanne? And Sid?"

"Yes, it is, _and_ a second bottle of champagne."

"Bones! If he moves back! I mean, no one argues with a Julian, even Sid! Maybe we can get him to buy the diner! We could buy the diner for him! Please!?"

- - -

Bones, I didn't know Sam Cullen was in a Led Zepplin cover band, did you? But there he is, singing "_The Immigrant Song_" up there with our dads. I'll be right back, this is my favorite Zepplin tune.

- - -

You really have a horrible singing voice, do you know that? Really, really bad. Even singing a song that doesn't require any real vocal talent.

- - -

Oh, God. Now you and Jack are singing "_That Lovin' Feeling_." My poor ears. I've got to find Jenkins and see if there's a way to shut off your microphone.

- - -

I was sitting with all my guys—Sweets and Clark and Jack and Sully had come over to sit with Steven and David and Mark and me—and we were all watching you and Cam as you were dancing to some song while Angela was up talking to the band's male singer. He nodded, so she came back over to you two to whisper, all three of you breaking out into laughter and walking up to the band as they finished their tune. There was a pause, and the three of you all picked up microphones, you in the middle and Cam and Angela standing on either side of you-- then the band started playing again, a tune I hadn't heard in a while but instantly recognized. Sending me a dramatic wink and blowing me a kiss, you started to sing.

"_I need love, love/ ooh, ease my mind/ And I need to find time/ someone to call mine;/ My mama said/ You can't hurry love/ No, you'll just have to wait/ She said love don't come easy/ But it's a game of give and take…"  
_

The three of you were better than the Supremes, I swear. Diana Ross sounds like a cat in heat compared to you, or maybe I just thought that because you were singing to _me_. The three of you were doing dance moves up there like you'd been on the Motown tour forever, you always standing in the middle and belting that tune out as you shimmied and turned, shaking your hips with the tune.

"_How many heartaches must I stand / Before I find the love to let me live again/ Right now the only thing that keeps me hanging on/ when I feel my strength/ ooh, it's almost gone/ I remember mama said…" _

"How the hell does she _do_ that?" I wondered aloud. All the guys at the table shook their heads, transfixed by the show you three were putting on.

Clark, however, smiled, and said "She once published a paper regarding the anthropological significance of girl groups in popular music through 1975 with particular emphasis on the Supremes as the archetypical example of the myth of the Muses through the ages."

I just shook my head, as the band let up a bit on the volume, and you softened your voice, _definitely_ nicer than Diana Ross', and sang some more. _  
_

"_Now love, love don't come easy/ But I keep on waiting / Anticipating for that soft voice /  
To talk to me at night / For some tender arms / to hold me tight" _

I just smiled like a fool, because that's you, my wife, up there singing to _me_. Heh. My _wife_.

And then the song ended, and there was a pause, and then the three of you looked over at our table, blew us all kisses, and waited, as the music started again.

- - -

Bones, you are not singing "_Lady Marmalade_" to me while Angela is grinding into your front and Cam is fondling your ass. Please tell me this isn't happening?

Wait. No, this is good, keep going.

Wait. Did you just tongue kiss Angela? And Cam? And then all three of you together? Did Angela just grab your breasts from behind you? Wait. Fuck. Did Ange just lick your neck, too? Oh my God. Holy …

Jesus. Did you just grind your hips against Angela's, running your hands down the sides of her breasts?

"Oh, my God. I'm going to die, right here, right now."

"You're not the only one," Sully groaned, adjusting the front of his pants. "She said she was saving the tongue for Cam, but I didn't believe her."

"Bones never lies," I managed, right before you and Cam started kissing again.

Jack just shifted in his chair, his eyes glazed.

"That is so _hot_," panted Sweets, and it was, so I couldn't even Evil Death Glare him. Like I could anyway. I was cross-eyed, I was staring so hard.

"Jesus Fuck," I moaned. The guys around the table agreed.

"Holy shit."

"Sweet mother of God."

"Booth, _man_."

Clark just shook his head. "Damn. I've got to go find Amelia. Like, now." Standing, he adjusted the front of his trousers, and walked off, lustful purpose in his eyes.

Jack finally broke his silence, his voice a whisper. "Somebody, please, tell me someone is taping this."

The song ended, and the three of you exchanged another three way kiss, and then stepped away from the microphones, and returned to the dance floor.

I muttered to Sully. "Uh. I'd get up, but I already am, and I don't think I want my mother watching me quite right yet."

He winced in response. "Me neither, man, me neither. Especially because your mom is _hot_, with a capital H."

"Goddamnit, Peanut!"

"What? She is!"

- - -

"Do you think it worked?" I whispered to Angela, and she and Cam and I continued dancing, the band having begun to play another tune.

Cam laughed. "Their eyes are so glazed over it'll be at least another few minutes before they aren't too stiff to move."

"Oh, I'm sure Seeley will recover faster than that. Here, Cam, turn around a bit…"

- - -

Okay, that's it. Enough of the fondling of your boss and your best friend, when you should be fondling _me_. I stood, and adjusted my very large, very painful hard on.

"Excuse me, boys. I have a wedding night to get started."

A chorus of "Damn"s followed me as I walked away from the table.

As I walked toward you from the back of the room, the music changed. Oh, fuck, Bones. You are not dancing to "_I touch myself_," are you? Fine, you want teasing? I'll give you teasing. I'll show you '_voulez-vous couchez avec moi_,' not just "_ce soir_" but all morning tomorrow, too, while I'm at it. I reached the three of you just as you were cupping your breasts through your dress, and Cam was grinding her hips into your ass. Except for every time I've been with you, I have never seen anything so hot in my life. Angela, who saw me coming, quirked an eyebrow as I snaked my arm around your waist, pulling you up against me so tightly our breath mingled. Your hands clamped onto my ass, and you ground against my hips.

"Fuck me, Bones, what are you doing?" I groaned, my other hand grabbing your back as I started to dance with you.

"I'm dancing, Booth. You weren't interested in dancing with me, so Cam and Angela and I have been having a good time."

Angela came behind me then, and slid her hand around to my chest, to pull me back into her, her breasts pressing into my back. _Ohmygodohmygodohmygod_, and then Cam came up behind you, and cupped your breasts from behind you.

"What's the matter, Booth, don't you want to dance with us?" Angela cooed in my ear, as Cam leaned forward to lick the side of your neck. _Wowwowowowowowow_.

"What's the matter, Seeley?" Cam purred, then ran her hands down your sides to your hips, as you pulled up one of her hands, took one of her fingers into your mouth, and sucked it. _HolysweetmotherofGod_.

You removed one of your hands from my ass, then, and brought it around between us to stroke me once, firmly, up my inseam.

"Jesus, Bones," I groaned, then grabbed your hand and spun you so you would stop making the worst hard on I've ever had in my life even worse, one arm holding down the hand you'd been stroking me with across your waist. You just moved in closer to me, and wiggled your hips back into mine until your incredible ass was nestled straight up against my cock, warm and soft and perfect and God, I have to be inside you right now. You other hand came up to the side of my face, and you pulled my head down as I moved with you, and you sang, "_I want you, I don't want anybody else_," and then sang out "_Aaaaahhhhh_" with the lyrics, sounding almost exactly like you do in bed.

I had you up in my arms and out the door of the ballroom before you could say "anthropologically speaking."

- - -

I find it interesting that you normally can't find the way back to our room without three or four wrong turns first, but that this time you were able to make a buzzline (beeline, Bones, beeline) straight there. I wonder if it's an alpha-male hormonal response increasing your directional abilities in light of the strong urge to mate. Perhaps I'll do some research.

You kicked the door shut, me still in your arms, and walked over to the bed, kicking off your shoes as you went and dropping me onto the bed. "Bones, are you trying to kill me?" you growled, as you tossed your jacket aside and pulled off your tie. "Or make me come in my pants like a thirteen-year-old? Jesus, the three of you up there gave every guy in the place a boner, including our fathers, which is just kind of gross."

I laughed and replied-- "I'm sure they were responding to Angela and Cam kissing each other, not my kissing them."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Bones, that may well have been the hottest thing in the history of the universe! Where the hell did you learn to dance like that? And I thought you didn't find dancing a worthwhile expenditure of time?"

I smirked up at you. "It is a waste of time, in the context of attempting to meet a potential mate, because all it does is display sexual attractiveness, rather than communicate the parties' ability to provide food and protection to one another. However, in the context of an already established mating relationship, the display serves to enhance and promote the relationship and bind the mates closer to one another."

Your eyes darkened as I finished my perfectly logical explanation, then groaned as you unfastened your pants, while putting two of your fingers into your mouth and sucking them. "I'll give you binding the mates closer to one another," you said, crawling up onto the bed, and flipping me over into a kneeling position as I put my arms out under me, your hand stealing up under the hem of my dress, and pushing aside my panties to plunge your fingers into me. "Temperance, you temptress, first you buy a dress that glows _almost_ as much as your skin, _and_ shows off one of my favorite parts of your body to every man in the place so that now I have to shoot all our friends _and_ our families, and then, you engage in that wanton display with the only two women I know who are _almost_ as sexy as you, and then, _then_, you grind that hot little ass of yours into me on the dance floor until I'm ready to throw you down on a table and take you right there. In front of my parents." Your thumb rubbed firmly against my clitoris, making me cry out as a shock ran through me, then you plunged your fingers into me again, curling hard against my walls as you pushed up my dress to my waist, me shuddering as your fingers twisted and curled again.

"Fuck, Bones, a french thong? You are definitely going to kill me. Where the hell do you get your panties? Inga's House of Irresistible Underwear?"

You withdrew your hand again only to return, your thumb drawing back and forth across my clitoris, as your other hand stole underneath me to fondle my breasts through my dress, plunging and twisting and rubbing and squeezing with both of your hands until I came with a moan, squeezing your fingers as you continued to move them within me. Then you withdrew, the hand on my breasts coming up under my dress to grasp my stomach, as I heard fabric rustle and your groan right before you slid into me, an inch at a time, the fullness of you causing the fabric of the underwear you'd yet to remove to pull taut against my clitoris. As you filled me completely, the fabric tightened further against me, and I moaned "Ah, Jesus, Seeley." You plunged in again, the hand behind me moving between my legs to tug on the fabric again, and I screamed as the friction caused me to climax, my elbows buckling and my walls flooding around you. Your hand at my waist tightened, holding me up as I shuddered with the force of my climax, before you withdrew and returned to fill me again, groaning "Bones" as you continued to move, and tugging the fabric again. "Seeley," I whimpered, but you only did it again, panting "Your own fault, Bones," as you returned again, increasing your speed. I arched back to meet you, my knees barely holding me, my thrusts meeting yours until you gathered within me, stiffening and crying out as you released inside me.

Pulling me over onto our sides, I panted, the sweat soaking your shirt heating my bare back and my heart slamming, practically in my throat.

"Whoo," you wheezed.

"You can say that again," I gasped.

"Whoo."

I couldn't help it-- I laughed, the contractions of my diaphragm forcing you from inside me. Turning so I could face you, I laughed even harder. Your shirt was all askew, your cumberbund twisted, your pants and boxers around your knees. "The dry cleaning bill for this is going to be extortionate," I wheezed, and you barked out a laugh as I pulled myself up to a sitting position and pulled down my zipper. Sliding forward, I slipped the dress over my head, and walked over to one of the chairs to leave the dress folded on the back.

You groaned as I bent over to fold the dress and smooth out the rumples our loving had caused. "You are only allowed to wear those thongs from now on, even if it kills me." I turned, and you groaned again, still lying on your side on the bed, as you took in the sheer lace of the cups of my bra, my still-hardened nipples still protruding through the fabric. "And that bra, too," you growled. "One in every color, and a special order to the manufacturer in bulk."

"You like them, do you?" I purred, cupping my breasts in my hands, and rubbing my thumbs across my nipples, as I advanced back toward the bed, then stopped to bend to take off my heels. You groaned as I bent over in front of you again. As I caught sight of a pair of your discarded pants at the foot of the bed, a plan developed in my mind. "Well, then, why don't you finish getting undressed, and I'll let you inspect the workmanship a little more."

"I'm all about ensuring good quality," you replied, half sitting to undo your cumberbund and starting to pull your shirt over your head. I struck, then, grabbing your belt off the floor and doing my best Indiana Jones imitation, catching the fabric bunched around your wrists, the belt looping over itself and holding.

"Bones, what the hell?" you yelled, your face exhibiting shock as I pulled tighter on the belt I'd wrapped around the fabric tangling your wrists, and stepped onto the bed to sit atop you.

"You didn't believe the part about the bullwhip, did you, Mr. Cocky Beltbuckle, hmm?" I said, as I reached up to wrap the belt crosswise around your wrists, and cinched the buckle.

"Bones, Jesus Christ," you gasped, as I pushed you down on the bed and positioned myself over you, pulling the fabric covering my core further to the side so I didn't torture myself into coming faster than I wanted to.

I raked my nails on your chest before leaning forward with one hand to lean onto your arms as I purred, "You can pray all you want, but I don't think there's going to be a divine manifestation here in the bedroom to get you out of this one, Booth. And," I continued, "a leather belt is sturdier than a silk necktie." I reached behind me to gather your testicles into my hand, tickling them with my fingers as I lowered myself onto you, then began to move.

"Unnggh, fuck Bones, knock it off," you said, bucking your hips in an attempt to roll me to the side. But your balance was off, and I clamped my knees harder around your legs as I sped my pace, still tickling you from behind with one hand as I leant onto your arm with the other.

"What's the matter, Booth? What's good for the goose isn't good for the gander? Do you want me to stop?" I pulled forward, until the head of your shaft was just inside my entrance, then pulled even further away as you tried to jerk your hips upward. The look on your face was priceless-- totally confused and totally lustful all at the same time.

"No, just, unnggghhh, aahhhh, Jesus! Bones!" you groaned, as I pushed hard onto you again, grinding my hips into yours. I did it again, then moved the hand cupping your testicles in front of me, pressing down on your chest as I scratched you with my nails and pulled almost off of you. "Bones, this isn't fair," you whimpered, then gasped as I thrust back onto you, and dug my nails into the arm I was leaning onto.

"Poor Booth, you're just upset that I've used the skills acquired in my quest to become an alpha-female to best you," I panted, as I picked up the pace. "It's just survival of the fittest, sweetheart," I whispered, gripping your arm again as I felt my climax approaching and you beginning to thicken within me. "Remember, it's my... job ... to help you ... evolve," I said, as you managed to jerk up into me, and I ground hard onto you before reaching down between us to rub my clitoris, releasing myself to shudder around you, milking your shaft until you burst within me.

"Ahh! Bones!" you yelled, the force of your orgasm making you jerk under me, as I braced my hand against your chest while my own orgasm wracked me.

Panting, I leaned forward and kissed you, then left your mouth to whisper in your ear, "I think you need to evolve a little more, Seeley." Before you could react, I let go of your arms and turned, sitting on your chest and facing away from you, then placed my hands on your thighs as I knelt over you to take you into my mouth. I swallowed our mingled tastes as you cried out "Oh God, Temperance, fuck," and hummed a laugh against you as I began to suck you, swirling my tongue around the head of your shaft as I pulled away to gain enough room to do so. Gripping the base of your shaft with one of the hands I'd placed on your thigh, I began again, and enjoyed your groan as you tried to use your abdominals to pull yourself upward to get to my core, only to find I was just inches out of your reach. Looks like there is some benefit to being that much shorter than you. "Bones, please, just...aaaaahhhhh!" I smiled as I admired the matching boxer shorts peeking out from the pants still bunched at your knees as I sucked my cheeks in again.

- - -

After drawing it out until you were sweating and panting like a long distance runner, and moaning like I don't know what, I swirled my tongue over the head of your shaft firmly one last time, until you exploded into my mouth. Swallowing, I gave you one last hard suck, then let go and turned to straddle you, face forward. I replaced my hands on your arms as I bent down to kiss you, your tongue tangling with mine as I let you taste your scent in my mouth. Then I sat up and leaned forward to pull your hands up and unfasten the belt. You were still panting, letting out an occasional wheeze or a whine, as I pulled off your shirt and tossed it to the side, then shifted off the bed to pull off your pants, your shorts, and your socks. I couldn't resist scratching my nails on the soles of your feet, which elicited only a twitch and a moan, you were so spent. Standing, looking over at you, I said, "Well, that was fun, but I think I need a shower now." Then I unfastened my bra, pulling it off and tossing it onto your chest, and stepped out of my panties and threw them at you again. Looking back at you as I turned and headed into the bathroom, I licked my lips and said, "And perhaps some time alone with the shower wand."

"No, wait, Bones, come back here," you whimpered, as I shut the bathroom door and locked it. It would probably take you a few minutes to recover and pick the lock. I didn't want to make it too hard on you, though, so I decided to leave the bench where it was, rather than push it in front of the door.

I managed to wash my hair and wash off my makeup before I heard you thump into the door. "Bones, open the door," you called, your voice hoarse.

I laughed and replied, as I switched the shower wand to pulse, and directed it onto my core, "Use your FBI secret powers, Mr. Brennan," then moaned as the pulsing water filled me, and I reached out to grasp the wall, as I brought the wand closer to increase the water pressure. "But you'd better... aaahhhh ... hurry ... before I leave you for this ... ohhhhh... shower wand."

"Bones!" You yelled. "You know it hurts my shoulder when I break the door down!"

My only response was "The ... ahhhhh ... lockpicks ... are somewhere ... unnnnnhhh ... in the bureau." I shrieked, then, as I climaxed, and you banged through the door, stopping to stare at me as I turned to you and palmed my own breasts, letting the shower wand fall to the floor of the tub.

"Come on, alpha-male, show me what you've got."

- - -

I have to say, you recovered very quickly. And that thing with your hands _and_ the showerhead? Yes, please, do that again.

- - -

Sated, for now, I dried you off and carried you back to bed, the balance of things properly righted now that you were all floppy and unable to make a fist to try and beat me up again. You curled onto my chest, sighing, as I listened to our hearts still hammering in our chests.

"Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Booth," I whispered,

"Happy Anniversary, Mr. Brennan," you replied, your hand tracing patterns on my stomach as my hand trailed up and down your spine.

"Did you have a nice wedding, Temperance?"

"I did, Seeley, did you?"

"Very nice. Especially the part where I get to call you my wife and mean it now. And the pie. And Sid. But mostly, the part where I got to tell everyone how much I love you."

"Me too. Although the dancing with Angela and Camille was actually very interesting…"

I cut you off with a kiss, then rolled so you were beneath me, and clamped your legs shut between my knees.

"You just don't know when to stop, do you, Temperance?" I growled, as I pushed into you, the pressure of your closed legs and then the shock of your hot heat making me jerk at the end of my thrust.

"Maybe I just don't want you to," you husked, wrapping your arms around me and moaning even as you clenched your thighs tighter as I withdrew and pushed back into you again, sheathing myself firmly inside you again.

"Ah! Fuck! Seeley! Please!"

You don't have to ask me twice.


	38. Chapter 38

38.

Waking was nice. Waking in your arms was even nicer. Waking in your arms, your head in the crook of my neck, snoring like a monster truck, the hand bearing your wedding band laid possessively across my breast? Nicest of all. I let my fingers trace the skin of your shoulder and back, brushing my fingers over some of the scars you'd accumulated over the years. I knew their feel, their look, the location of all of them all now, though I only knew how you'd gotten some of them, or had been there, or seen them, right afterward. That ugly scar on your leg where you'd been burned by Kennedy always made me shiver, thinking of what else might have happened had I been just a bit later. There were others, a spattering of marks left by burns, or bullets, or knives-- a few raised and uneven scars on the back of your legs that looked like shrapnel, and I wondered if you'd been able to save whomever you'd been shielding. I hoped so-- you would have felt that the scars were earned, then.

It was early, the sun just emerging on the horizon, but I was awake, so I slipped out from under you, kneeling to kiss your near shoulder before I went to the bureau and pulled out the silk nightgown and robe I'd never even had the chance to put on last night. I closed my eyes as I enjoyed the slip of the fabric over my skin, then belted the robe around me.

Walking over to the french doors that opened onto the balcony outside our room, I admired the view, then decided to step outside, though it would probably be somewhat chilly. There was a soft throw on the back of one of the chairs, so I pulled it around my shoulders, leaving the door slightly cracked open behind me.

It really was a beautiful set of grounds, small hills and tall hedges demarcating the different sections of the formal gardens, before they gave way to the more pastoral spaces, and the lakes, and the wooded land lying beyond. Jack told me that when he'd inherited the house, he deeded all the undeveloped land on the other side of the lake to a local conservation organization. "They have to maintain it for wildlife, including this rare spotted salamander that makes its habitat there, and only in several other places between here and Vermont," he'd said. "Plus, no one needs that much land and there's no way I'm going to develop it. When I gave them the land, I reserved an easement for anyone who owns or uses this property. If Ange and I don't have any kids, I'll probably leave the old pile to the lab, and Botany can have a field day with the heirloom plants in the garden." There were fountains and arbors and benches and other monuments dotting the gardens, visible from the floors above, though I knew from walking around that no one section of the garden was visible from another, so that each separate section felt like your own private grotto.

A movement to the side caught my eye, and I laughed to myself as I saw your parents headed back to the house, carrying some blankets as they left the replica Temple of Venus in the section of the garden with the Greek and Roman statuary. I'd wondered where they disappeared to, and now I knew. Another movement caught my attention then, as Sweets and Anne, again trailing more blankets, walked back holding hands, having just left the enclosed Victorian greenhouse where Angela said she sometimes drew in the winter. Your arms closed around my waist, your voice rough with sleep in my ear. "Good morning, wife. What are you doing?"

I closed my arms around yours, leaned into your shoulder. "Look- Lance got lucky in the greenhouse with Anne, and your parents are trailing back in from the Temple of Venus." You chuckled, then raised one arm to point.

"There's Clark and Amelia. What's that little building they left?"

"That's the Japanese teahouse."

"He said he was going to go find her after you three put on your little show."

"Jenkins must have seeded the whole place with blankets."

"He's a wise man. Do you think Jack would kill us if we tried to hire him away?"

"I think Jenkins does exactly what he wants to. We'll just have to be nice to him."

"Hey, is that... from the boathouse?"

"It is."

"I'm going to send Jeanne some flowers if she manages to make those Julian wiles stick."

"Admit it, you want to marry Sid."

"No one I'd rather be married to than you, but if Sid wanted to become a personal chef, then we could hire him."

"Glutton."

"I like good cooking."

"Booth-- Is that?"

"Mmm-hmmm. Henry and Delia, that's the apothecary garden and stillroom."

"Fitting."

"It is." I laughed. "Sid better hurry back to the house, he's going to have a lot of people to cook for this morning. Must be something in the air."

You chuckled again, pulled me closer. "Like I said, we're just a giant, contagious love machine, Bones."

I turned, and laid my hand on your cheek. "I'm glad," I said softly, looking up. "Everyone deserves to be happy, though I've got the best husband of all." You grinned, then, and I resolved to call you husband at least a dozen times a day. You're so cute when you're puffing your chest out in pride.

"Happy one day anniversary," you said then, lowering your lips to mine for a kiss, the taste of your mouth like cinnamon and coffee and chocolate against mine.

"Happy four year and one day anniversary," I replied, twining my hands around your neck. Your hands roamed up and down my back, through the throw I still had wrapped around my shoulders.

"It's chilly out here," you said.

"Well, you are naked as a bluebird," I smiled. "Good thing we're on the top floor, so you don't give everyone too much of a show."

You laughed, and nuzzled my neck. "Jaybird, Bones, not bluebird. Let's go back inside, and you can warm me up." Without further ado, you picked me up and carried me, bridal style, back into the room, before setting me back down on my feet again. I really should swat you more for hauling me around all the time than I do, but you enjoy it so much, and I can still kick your ass, so I figure I might as well make you happy.

I pulled off the throw, and tossed it back onto the chair.

"Nice nightgown," you said, running your hands under the robe and up my sides. "I don't think I've ever seen you in one before."

"Well, somehow we never make it to that point," I said, standing up on my toes to take your earlobe between my teeth, teasing it with the tip of my tongue.

"Wonder why that is," you murmured, pulling away and untying the robe, pushing it off my shoulders, and running your tongue along my clavicle, sucking at the hollow there. I shrugged the robe the rest of the way off, letting it pool on the floor, as you backed me up toward the bed, your hands roaming up and down the silk fabric, caressing my sides and breasts with your fingers until my knees came into contact with the bedframe. Sitting back, I pulled you toward me, then scooted up as you came to lie next to me, your hands still fondling me through the silk as I turned to kiss and suck my way across your chest. I could just do nothing but taste your skin for hours, feeling your muscles and beautiful structure beneath my lips and tongue, the heat and the scent of you warming me as I explore you all over again.

There's always something new to learn-- the way your triceps and deltoids bunch when you lower yourself to taste me, the way your abdominal muscles contract when I've taken you into my mouth, or how your quadriceps firm beneath me when I'm sitting astride you, your knees pulled up slightly so I can lie against your chest as we come apart and together again, your forearms flexing as you hold on to my hips.

Your hand had stolen beneath the hem of my gown, your fingers brushing the undersides of my breasts as I kissed my way down to your stomach, then along your well-defined external obliques, tracing their line above your iliac crest, before stopping to lay a bite there, then making my way back up your ribcage, as my other hand stroked your shaft lightly, thumbing the head of you, then returning to trace your length with my fingers. You pulled my gown up further, one hand kneading my behind as your other traced circles around my nipple. As I reached your chest again, I stopped to trace my tongue around your nipple, then nipped my way up to your neck, all the while moving my hand on you, pulling and stroking your firm heat. You tugged at my gown, so I pulled up long enough for you to pull it over my head before your hand stole to the back of my head to pull me in for a kiss. Sucking my lower lip into your mouth, you turned until I was lying on my back, then lowered your head to suck the hollow between my breasts, one hand still at the nape of my neck as the other drew light lines across the tops of my thighs and my ribcage. My hands traced your upper back, stroking the lines of your trapezius as you continued to kiss your way across each rib, your hands now tracing my inner thighs as my legs parted for you, my core already aching as I'd memorized your muscles again with my mouth. I dragged my toes up the back of your calves, until I dug my big toes into the backs of your knees and you laughed at the sudden motion.

"That tickles," you rasped, your breath hot against my stomach as your tongue dipped into and then circled my belly button, your fingers stealing across my folds, thumb brushing against my clitoris with a light touch that only increased the tension growing within me, sweet and painful as always with the ache for you filling me and the anticipation of the release that you bring me. Your fingers dipped into me, spreading and twisting me, as you moved up to latch onto one breast, sucking and nibbling as I sighed and began to tremble, needing you inside me.

"Seeley, my husband, I want you inside me," I murmured, and you looked up with such a smile on your face that I changed my decision to call you husband to from a dozen to at least thirty times a day. You leant up over me, and I pulled my legs up the back of your thighs, as you slipped inside me, gently, sighing into my mouth as you bent to kiss me. Slowly, your arms gathering me to you as I wrapped my arms around you, we began to move together, meeting each other with kisses and moans until you reached between us to rub your thumb against me, increasing the pressure until I arched backward with my release, then again as you continued to stroke me, circling and pushing until the cries fell from my throat as I bucked against you without any control. My arms tightened around you as my thighs quivered, still trying to grip you, your hand sliding to my back to tilt my hips up so you could thrust deeper. Your breathing became as ragged as mine as you gradually sped your pace, me somehow managing to meet you even as another wave of shudders passed through me.

"Seeley, I love you," I called, as you began to thicken and gather within me, the pressure on my walls building until you released with a quick thrust into me, calling out "Temperance, oh!", and the hot wash of your seed warming me, your next thrust sending me over the edge again, as I clung to you and you collapsed onto me. I felt your heart pounding against mine, as our sweat mingled and my own heartbeat, erratic, thumped within my ribcage, reminding me that it was there, an echo of how you first reminded me my heart was there.

"I love you," you mumbled into my shoulder, still panting with your effort. My hands roamed on your back, until you grunted and lifted yourself, withdrawing from me to lie on your side and pull me to mine so you could spoon me, the sweat of our bodies cooling between us. I shivered, and you pulled up the covers, your hand coming back to rest on my stomach.

"Good morning, wife," you whispered in my ear, sending a different kind of shiver through me. Pulling your ring-clad hand up to my mouth, I laid a kiss on your palm before responding.

"Good morning, husband." Mmm. Husband. That sounds nicer and nicer.

Your tongue traced behind my earlobe, the arm on which I'd been lying curling, so you could pull back my hair and gain access to my neck. You continued, until I became almost numb from your kisses and the hand on my stomach, tracing endless circles, my awareness of you growing again behind me almost an afterthought to the pressure of your tongue, until you hitched my bottom leg back toward you, and grasped me more firmly around the waist to fill me again. I rocked back against you, crying out with the difference in pressure from our earlier loving, as you nibbled my shoulder and pulled yourself firmly into me again. Cradling me to your chest and rocking into me, I felt warmth flood me again, as your hand at my waist dipped down, the heel of your hand rubbing against my mound until a spike shot through me, jerking me back onto you harder, and forcing an "Aaaahhhh!" from my throat. Your hand clasped me again, and I dissolved, only dimly aware as you came within me soon after, calling my name, as my clenching around you drew your release from you. I let myself drift, warm in your ocean.

- - -

Brunch was one gluttonous, post-coital glow. When we made it down to the larger sunroom, likewise full of comfortable chairs and couches in groups about the room, we were the last to arrive. I couldn't resist making love to you two more times in the shower, which slowed us up a bit coming down to eat. But hearing you call me 'husband' makes a new man out of me, in a manner of speaking. Especially when you're moaning it.

In addition to the couples we'd seen coming in from the garden, and Parker, who was bouncing between your parents and mine, I saw that Steven had somehow ended up with Deanna, David with your karate instructor, and Mark with your publisher, Karen. Henry and Delia were sharing an armchair, Sweets, Anne, Cam and Sully sitting on the floor near them, engaged in conversation as everyone worked on the food on their plates. As we entered the room, a cheer went up, and our friends raised their mimosas, bloody marys, and coffees into the air. "Hooray, Westley and Buttercup!" yelled Jack, which of course prompted calls of "Mom and Dad" and "Moron and Shaky" from Clark and Sully. Wiseasses.

"Bones, is that your dad and Maureen?" I whispered, as I spied who was sitting next to your father.

"Yes-- he asked me the other day if I minded. I guess the two of them became friendly while I was in the hospital. He still loves my mother dearly, but I know he's lonely, and Maureen is a lovely woman." You shrugged, then smiled wistfully, heading over to the couch where Jack and Angela had clearly saved us a seat, Clark and Amelia sitting in the chair next to them, sharing a plate.

"Coffee? Mimosa?" I asked, my stomach rumbling as I saw Jeanne and Sid bring in more platters of food.

"Coffee for now," you said. "Bring back whatever Sid tells you," you grinned. "He's always right anyway."

"That's right," said Jeanne, overhearing, as she set down more food on the table at the side of the room. "Never contradict Sidney. Or a Julian," she added, winking. Sidney? He doesn't let anyone call him that. Wow. Maybe he would move back. I've got to talk to Flo at the diner tomorrow, I decided. She'd mentioned she was thinking of retiring.

I walked over and surveyed the bounty, hands on my hips as I tried to decide. "Booth, man, I'll do it," Sid offered, shooting me a grin. "You go keep T. company, I'll bring some things over."

"Yes, Sidney," I said. I couldn't resist. He shot me a glare, then laughed, and pushed me away from the table.

I sat back down beside you, putting my back to the arm of the couch so I could pull you between my legs. Sid and Jeanne came over then, bearing plates and mugs of coffee. "The carnivore special for my man Seeley," Sid said, handing me a plate with eggs Benedict, bacon, sausage, and home fries. Mmmm. Sid's homefries. Then he took the plate Jeanne had been holding, and offered it to you with a flourish. "The full fat vegetarian special for Madame." He'd given you eggs florentine, liberally doused in Hollandaise sauce, and a bowl of yogurt with fruit.

"Spinach _and _fruit, all in one meal. Oh, Sid, I missed you," you sighed.

I sipped my coffee, and sighed too. "Two years and you still remember how I like my coffee."

"Temperance, you'll have to have a cheeseburger and fries later," called Delia. "You've got to have some meat in your diet every day."

Laughing, you responded, "Watch it, Thornton. I saw you and Henry coming in earlier, and I must say, crushed rosemary in your hair is very becoming." Henry turned bright red, as everyone else laughed, provoking another smile from you as people laughed at your joke.

We joked and chatted, trying to keep the sexual references oblique enough that Parker wouldn't understand. After he'd finished some bacon, he came over to stand in front of us, then said "Is there room for me?"

"There's always room for you, Parker," you said, handing your plate to me and pulling him up to sit in your lap. "You want to help me finish these eggs, pal? Your dad's really grouchy when I don't clean off my plate."

"My dad's really grouchy when I don't finish my vegetables, either."

"I know. And my eggs have _spinach_ in them. Think you're brave enough to help me anyway? Or are you chicken?"

"I'm not chicken!" he yelled, a look of challenge in his eyes, as he pulled the plate from me and picked up your fork, shoving a bite of your eggs into his mouth, a look of interest on his face as he chewed. When he'd finished, he looked up at you. "That was okay, can I have some more?"

Bones, if I knew that the only thing I'd have to do to make him eat veggies was to dare him, I'd have done so a long time ago. I can't tell you how much broccoli he used to throw at me.

Just then, Jenkins entered the room, wearing a huge grin on his face and one of the loudest Hawaiian shirts I've seen on him yet. And his shirts are almost as loud as my boxers. After he'd cleared the doorway, I saw why he was grinning so much. Caroline was standing behind him, wearing another of Jenkins' shirts, and a pair of track pants I assumed were probably his. Guess she hadn't planned on staying the night.

"Not a peep out of any of you," she threatened. "I'm too old to put up with your guff."

But then she smiled, as Jenkins offered her his arm, and asked her, "May I escort you to breakfast, Sweet Caroline?"

She glared as we all started singing the Neil Diamond song, but really, she could just have gone home if she really minded being caught.

- - -

The boys and I had a great game of only moderately bruising football, Rangers versus Squints and Cops (Sid played with them to even the teams out, saying "Squints and Cops are my favorite kinds of customers"), the score coming out even by the time we all decided it was time to quit. It seemed fitting. And anyway, Clark had looked up during the last time out before the end of the game, sniffed, and said three wonderful words that all made us look back toward the house. "I smell barbecue."

- - -

When we got back, there were blankets spread out all over the lawn below the patio, and coolers full of beer and soda and pitchers of sangria between all the blankets.

"Jack, man," I said, my arm slung over his shoulder, "this is way, way, too much."

He grinned, and said, "Not all my idea, man. Jenkins just likes you guys. We usually get water and gruel when he's cooking on Sundays. You have to come over more often. Mi Castle es tu Castle, and all that crap."

"Cool. I do like that bathtub in our room," I said, leering.

"No kidding. There wasn't any hot water anywhere else in the house this morning."

You were sitting on a blanket with your dad and Maureen, Parker lying on the blanket next to you blowing bubbles while my parents made out up on the patio. Those two are ridiculous.

"Who won?" you called, as Jack peeled off to find Angela, who was watching as Jenkins flipped something on the grill, Caroline standing by with a sauce mop.

"We all did," I replied, then realized it was true, at least for this weekend. We all did.

We left around ten, after helping Jenkins, Jack and Angela clean up in the kitchen. "Thank goodness for industrial dishwashers," groaned Angela, as we loaded the fifth tray of plates and wine glasses through, while Jenkins put away the rest of the cold salads and Caroline's famous spoonbread. (That is good, can you ask her for the recipe, Bones?")

Caroline reappeared with a tray bearing the rest of the Sangria pitchers, plunking it down on the counter. "Jenkins, my man," she said. "It's been more than cool, but Booth and Dr. Brennan and I have a hearing tomorrow afternoon, and I've got to go get ready tonight. But you give me a call, sugar, and I'll show you that roadhouse with the excellent blues band sometime."

"I would like nothing more," he said, "but I'll see you out. Wouldn't want you to get lost in this mazelike abode." He shot us a grin over his shoulder, then started talking to Caroline on his way out the door. "Were you there that time when Smokey decided he had to go drag racing down..."

I shook my head. "Jack, is he making that stuff up?"

Angela laughed. "No way. He used to tour with my dad, too."

- - -

You fell asleep in the car on the ride home, so I carried you in and settled you onto the bed before bringing in the rest of our things. I couldn't have asked for a nicer weekend. And then you made it perfect, when I settled into bed beside you, and you snuggled into me, murmuring, "'Night, husband." Heh. You called me husband.

"Booth, I don't want to go," you were whining, as we lay in bed the next morning, before it was time to get up. "Why are you insisting we go to this one? You never like to go to these things."

"I didn't have to shoot anyone for this one, it's different, and it will only take an hour. Besides, the President's wife is big into children's charities. Maybe you can pump her for some public interest in the Foster Foundation."

Your eyes lit up, and you bounced from our bed. "What color should I wear? Natalia made me a lovely green skirt suit."

Bones, I know you claim to hate politics, but you charmed the pants off the big guy (not that it's that hard to do, though, I hear, he's just not that bright) and his wife, who not only was interested in the Foundation, but turned out to be a huge fan of your books. I don't know how we're going to get out of the Annual Turkey Pardon invite, though, once Parker finds out.

We got into the lab by eleven, after you called in for me to Sam to see if there was anything requiring me to swing by the Hoover.

"Sam, hi, it's Temperance. Just calling in for Seeley to see if he needs to come by before lunchtime. Oh, okay, great. Oh, good, glad you had a great time. Now, none of that. Don't think I didn't see you and your wife out by the grape arbor." You laughed. "I blackmailed Seeley, what makes you think you're any different?" You laughed again at something he said, then hung up after saying goodbye.

"He said we owe him a round of whiskey at O'Reilly's since we ran out of it at the wedding. His words were, 'I fucking hate rum. Now you owe me whiskey and more Rocky Road.'"

- - -

"All hail the conquering heroes," quipped Clark, as we walked in the lab. "I'm surprised you guys didn't stay for lunch after your ceremony."

"No, Bones wanted to get back to medieval dead bodies," I said, as you punched me. That's my Bones. I followed you into your office and helped you off with your coat as you stowed your bag. "Come back to get me by two-thirty for court," you said, planting a kiss on my cheek before turning me and slapping me on the ass as you pushed me out the door. "Off with you, husband."

I walked out of there with a fool grin on my face. Heh. You called me husband. And you slapped my ass in public. Heh.

- - -

The preliminary hearings were boring as usual, me going through the facts on which probable cause was warranted for the search we'd conducted at the suspect's home, and you going through the methodologies for the team's findings as the basis for your expert opinion as to the cause of death. I didn't like the defendant's attorney. I mean, I don't like any of them, but this kid was new to the local bar, cocky as hell, and with blood in his eye. He was outright hostile to me, which I could care less about, but he was barely civil to you, which is simply uncalled for.

Caroline overcame his objections with ease, though, and the judge ruled as admissible all the things defense counsel had tried to have thrown out, and set the trial to begin two weeks after next, claiming he'd be on vacation during the week originally planned. I didn't really care about the delay, though-- we've been doing this too long now to mess anything up, and I wondered whether maybe I shouldn't get a tape of the proceedings when this was over to play for my class on evidence preservation and trial preparation at Quantico. It was starting up again in three weeks, and I hadn't done a lot to prepare for it, though I could definitely use the same cases I'd used last year that you helped me put together. But I might as well change up the mix a little, since this one had some new twists given the new technique you'd used to reconstruct dentals. They were going to have to be able to defend their reliance on something like that sometime in explaining how they came up with the motive and identity. This getting old and responsible thing was some serious stuff. Maybe I'd sit in on your class next week and bone up on how you and Daniel lead discussions. Plus, I'll get to spend three hours looking at you. Always a bonus.

- - -

The week at work was slow, no new cases for us, which was good as it gave Clark some time to wind up his consulting practice, and gave me some time to finish the comments my editor had sent back on my finished Kathy & Andy. The fact that it was slow was good for another reason-- I was much sleepier, and a little dizzy, after Wednesday afternoon's session, and had stumbled a little on the pavement coming back into the house with my dad. He shot me a look but didn't say anything, just grabbed my elbow and held on until we made it into the house. I lay down for a bit, while he started dinner preparations, but felt better enough to get back up and help him finish the meatloaf and creamed spinach I'd decided upon. You came in around six, and my dad left with a '_You'll tell him or I will_,' look on his face, clapping you on the shoulder with a "Son," instead of a "Boy."

"How was today?" You asked.

"Okay. A little sleepy, not bad."

Your forehead furrowed. "That's all?"

"Well, the sidewalk's uneven, so I missed a step a little, but nothing else." The sidewalk wasn't uneven. They'd paved it just last year, I remembered what a pain it was finding parking the times I'd brought takeout to you. But I didn't want to talk about it, yet. You left it alone, merely dropping a kiss on my temple before going back to the bedroom to change.

"Meatloaf? Yum," you said, opening the door and letting the heat out. "What's this?" you continued, lifting the lid on the creamed spinach.

"Spinach," I said, cutting off your objection with a "lots of iron, and tons of butter, just what the doctor ordered."

"Yes, June," you replied meekly.

"Damn straight, Ward."

After dinner, we celebrated eight down, sixteen more to go.

- - -

I became really tired halfway through treatment the next day, and fell asleep in the car on the way home. I woke as you settled me onto the bed, pulling my shoes off.

"I'm up," I said, rolling over to my side to sit, then stand. A wave of dizziness came over me, and I sat back down with a thump.

"Dizzy?"

"A little."

"Well, just take it slow. You want pizza or Mexican?"

"Mexican, please." I sat a moment longer as you stood and waited, watching, then stood. Good. Better, now. You waited until I passed you to follow me down the hall, your eyes on my back as I shook off the small hint of unsteadiness still in my head. Poor us. I guess the honeymoon's over, and the real work begins.

- - -

You seemed fine all through your seminar the next Monday afternoon, and it was very interesting watching how you and Daniel led the discussion through several complex and interrelated topics. Definitely picked up some pointers, there. But you fell asleep in the car, waking just as I parked in front of the house. "Coming in, Bones?" I asked, after I'd opened your doors. You nodded, and undid your belt, then actually let me take your hand as you got out of the car. Not good. You usually swat me away.

When I got home Tuesday night, after a long day of bullshit paperwork and a policy meeting, you were fast asleep, Angela sitting in the living room sketching. "She's asleep," she said, as I came in the door. "She looked a little pale after this afternoon."

"She's been sleepy, a little dizzy, too."

"She's been okay at work, eating and using her stool when she's doing Limbo work, though. We're all keeping an eye on her."

"Not much else we can do," I sighed, draping my jacket over a stool at the island and leaving both weapons in the box in the closet. I didn't want to wake you up yet if you weren't ready. I came over and flopped into the couch.

"She said it's not unusual, and Delia agreed when she came by. At least she put on another three pounds this weekend."

"Delia checked it?"

"Mmm-hmm. I put a lasagne in the oven for you guys, it'll be ready in a half hour. I'm going to get going, okay, hon?"

Rubbing my face, I nodded. "Thanks, Angela, see you later."

I went in to check on you. You did look a little peaky. My poor Bones. I closed the door, and went back out to the kitchen, alone with my thoughts. An hour later, after I'd had some lasagne and a beer, and worked on my notes for class, you came out, having changed into pyjamas.

"You should have woken me," you grumbled.

"Nah, you obviously needed the sleep. Want some dinner?"

"I suppose," you said, sitting at the counter. "I'll have some wine, if there's any."

I filled you in on my really pretty boring day as I watched you eat, you shooting me occasional '_stop watching me, I'm doing the best that I can_' looks as you picked your way through the serving I'd cut you. You finished most of it, but left your glass of wine untouched, after making a face with the first sip. I pulled it over, took a sip. It tasted fine to me.

"The wine's not off," I started.

"I know. It's me that's off. It just doesn't taste right. The lasagne, either." You shook your head. "There's nothing for it, though." You grimaced and finished the lasagna then, and got up to put the dish in the sink, tossing the wine down the drain. "Maybe some ice cream will be better."

"I'll get you some, go put on a movie," I said.

You managed your way through the two scoops I'd given you with more gusto, and perked up for a bit as you made fun of the "totally unrealistic weapons and explosions usage" in _Die Hard_. "The villian's good, though. I like him. He was the Sherriff in that otherwise execrable version of Robin Hood, wasn't he?"

I laughed, amazed at what you sometimes retained about pop culture. "He was, but if you think that's good, you should see him in Harry Potter as Severus Snape."

"What's Harry Pooter?" you asked. Ah, Bones, never change.

- - -

When I came in to pick you up for treatment Thursday, you weren't in your office, where I checked first, since you weren't on the platform. Walking back out, Jack looked up from his station. "Ange's office," he said, looking serious.

"Since when?"

"About an hour ago."

"Did she eat any lunch or snacks?"

"She tried. Had some hummus this morning, but only got through half a banana before she looked totally grossed out about eating the rest of her lunch. I didn't want to push it."

"Thanks, brother. Talk to you later."

I walked into Angela's office quietly-- she was working away on her computer, and looked up as I came in, then jerked her head over to you on her couch. You were curled up under a blanket, and looked tired and pale.

"Hey, Bones," I said, kneeling down to brush the hair off your face. "Bones, sweetheart, time to go." You cracked an eye open, then rolled over onto your back, not looking refreshed at all. I didn't like how woozy you looked, so I sat down and pulled you up to sitting without waiting for permission. You shot me a look, but didn't say anything, just shifted to pull your legs over and onto the floor, slipping back on the shoes you'd kicked off, then sitting for a moment, before bracing yourself with your hands and pushing yourself up. I've been working with you long enough now to know you weren't feeling steady, and thanked Heaven for the long-established habit of my hand at your back.

You slept through almost the entire session this time, but woke just as Henry came over to say hello and take out your IVs.

"Feeling tired?" he asked, sitting down on the stool next to your chair.

You nodded. "Tired, dizzy, my taste receptors have changed. I'm going to have to re-evaluate what tastes right and what doesn't. I know it's not unexpected, so I'll try some bland foods and we'll let Delia know how it goes." You shot Henry a look, then, half expectant, half tired. "You know, Henry, we appreciate your company, but I know oncology's not your specialty, and with the brain tumor gone, you really needn't feel like you have to come by to say hello. I know you've other patients to see, and I'm sure you've got surgeries you could be doing rather than tracking three buildings over."

He half-smiled. "Well, then, how about you two join Delia and me for lunch on Saturday, instead? We're moving in together, you know."

I laughed. "It's the Booth-Brennan pheremones. We should bottle the stuff, Bones."

"Between that and my pudding, we could take an alternative tack to fighting crime and just make everyone feel too full on pudding and sex to consider murdering anyone."

Henry laughed, then patted your hand. "Maybe you should. That pudding is awfully good."

- - -

You were more lively on the way home, and let me bounce ideas for my class next week off of you, approving the new cases I'd added to the syllabus. "Do you want me to come in and we can take turns doing a mock _voir dire_ about the _Daubert_ and admissibility analyses required, so they can see how the right results look on the stand?"

"That's a good idea. If you have time." You smiled. "Of course I have time. Plus, neither you, Caroline, or I have time to re-train baby cops later on, so if we do it, it will come out right. We should also work a little on the NCJA presentation, just divvy up what order we want to present in. Do you think it makes sense to present chronologically, and keep taking turns, or do the science and investigation parts separately?"

"Chronologically, I think. It'll make more sense to them in terms of how it unfolded, what prompted the further analysis. Some of these guys have never really worked with forensics before, so it'll be all new to them."

You nodded. "We can look at the slides at the office tomorrow, I've already had a copy of the file made so we can pick out what we want scanned for overheads."

I grimaced. "You know, I'm not looking forward to standing up in front of all of those people."

You patted my arm. "I know. But you're a better speaker than you give yourself credit for, and if they get restless, you can just shoot them your '_settle down and listen because I don't want to shoot you_' Charm Smile."

"Do I even _have_ one of those?"

"Sure," you said, shooting me a smile. Hey, that really is a _'settle down and listen because I don't want to shoot you_' Charm Smile. How do you do that?

- - -

The next morning, we worked in your office on the couch, playing dueling laptops as we went through the file and the electronic data on yours, and outlined the particular points we wanted to make on mine. We actually got a lot of work done, despite the distraction of your soft, warm leg pressed against mine, and the smell of your hair tickling my nose. Sully came in to say hello, pulling up a chair.

"What are you kids up to so intently? We haven't been busy all week. I've just been hauling Rodgers around on cold case scutwork all week. He's doing great, but even he's bored."

You smiled. "Professor Booth and I are working on the NCJA speech. We're actually almost done, it's been quiet."

"Professor Booth, eh?" Sully smiled. "Better you than me, man. I hate that stuff. It's painful enough getting reports done."

"Missing chartering?"

"Nah. This is good, and Camille's not in the Carribean, she's here."

You smirked and poked me. "Westley and Buttercup strike again."

"You lovebirds are a pain in the ass," he grinned, ruffling your hair as he got up to leave. "I'm off to go molest Shaky in her office."

"Watch out for the cameras," I called.

He stuck his head back in the door. "That's the good part about her being the boss lady. She knows how to turn them off."

- - -

That evening, after dinner, we were watching the last of the _MacGyver_ DVDs when you sat bolt upright, clapped your hand over your mouth, and ran for the kitchen sink, me hopping the couch to run after you. You only heaved twice, but you were sweating and your hands shaky as you turned on the faucet to wash your face and your mouth, my hand on your pack and holding your hair from your face. There wasn't anything to say as I handed you some paper towels, so I just kept rubbing your back until you turned, and wrapped your arms around me, your head buried in my chest.

"Here we go," you mumbled, tears starting to soak through my shirt.

"I know. Sweetheart, I know."


	39. Chapter 39

39.

We stood there for a bit, until you sniffed and pulled away, wiping your face with your hands and turning to run the water as you flicked on the garbage disposal. Turning back, you wiped your nose again, and said, "Well, that's my moping for the week," trying a watery smile on for size. "I suppose I should let Delia know what's going on so we can do something about this-- she's going to have to do something besides the dexamethasone if this keeps up."

"We're supposed to have lunch with them tomorrow, remember?"

You sighed, and walked over to sit in your chair and boot up your computer. "Yes, but that's social. I don't want to talk about it then, they're enjoyable company and it would be nice to be friendly with them, after. I'll send her an email and maybe we can talk about it that way before Tuesday."

You started typing, so I figured I'd leave you alone and clean up the rest of the dishes and things. I didn't hear you stop until you'd sat at the island, and said, "Booth-- Halloween's Tuesday and the Jeffersonian party's Monday night. Do you usually go out with Parker to trick or treat?"

"I don't, actually, unless it's a night he's regularly here. Rebecca will sometimes bring him by, but it really depends. I forgot about the Jeffersonian thing. Do you want to go?"

You had your chin on your hands, and were staring off into space. "I don't know. It's essentially expected that you go-- it's mostly employees, but there are always a few of the larger donors there, and the senior staff are expected to make small talk with them for at least a few minutes. It usually takes about an hour to make all the rounds. I'd have to get a new costume, though-- mine was wrecked last year, and it wouldn't fit right now anyway. I could probably get out of it, considering, but that's not really a healthy attitude, and there's usually something interesting to observe, at least when Jack spikes the punch with pure alcohol."

I came to stand behind you, my hand rubbing your back as much for me as for you. "Monday's a long day-- we have my class in the morning and then your seminar, it would be late before we got home even if we just did the minimum schmoozing."

"I don't know what that means."

"Schmoozing? It means ... it's a derogatory way of referring to having to socialize with and butter up people you'd rather not talk to at all."

"That's a good word-- it's always appalling pretending to be interested in people whose vanity demands they be cowtowed to before they give away their money."

"Well, maybe you can get drunk this year and tell some people off. No one will say boo about it."

"It is a Halloween party. I'm sure there will be lots of people saying boo about lots of things." You turned your head to look at me, smiling faintly at your own joke.

"Funny, Bones."

"Nah, Temperance Brennan, no sense of humor, remember? I'm going to go to bed. We can decide about the party later, though I don't really know what I'll do for a costume. I don't really feel like Wonder Woman this year."

"My poor Bones, you're always Wonder Woman, whether you're wearing your costume or not." I said, leaving a kiss on your head. "I'll be down in a minute, I'm just going to lock up."

- - -

I lay awake for a while watching you sleep, your breathing deeper and even, but still curled on your side as you often do when you aren't feeling well, or when you're upset about something. It's true, you don't normally get sick, but I can usually tell when you were getting your monthly visitor because you'd be cranky and snappish as hell one day, and would inevitably be found sleeping on your couch the following morning, curled in on yourself. You'd be quiet, for you, the rest of the day, but if I tried to coddle you, you'd get even crankier. You curled up the same way when you'd sleep on your couch after we first found your mother. Some people want to be babied-- not you. Not what I'm used to, at least with Parker-- he's the most demanding, whiny kid when he's sick, but at least it all revolves paying him tons of attention. If I did that to you, you'd probably punch me, not something I want to repeat.

I know you'll find your equilibrium again, but I feel useless just watching you go through the process of re-evaluating the facts and determining what weaknesses you're going to accept and what you're going to try to push past? We both already know all the facts, all the possibilities, all the odds under different scenarios. Delia had agreed that with this lymphadenoma, surgery didn't necessarily increase the chances of survival, and you had wanted to avoid surgery anyway, since removing the nodes would restrict how much weight you could carry, and increase your susceptibility to other illness, later, so it's not like there's really anything to be done except put up with the course that we've chosen.

You turned over, onto your other side, and shivered a little, so I pulled the covers up. As I reached over you, you shifted backward into me, so I pulled you closer and wrapped my arm around you, though I hadn't wanted to disturb you before. As soon I finished settling you into me, though, you uncurled a little, the frown line on your forehead smoothing a bit. At least I could do that much for you.

- - -

I woke in the middle of the night, thirsty-- not surprising. Even vomiting a little can be dehydrating, and I mentally chastized myself for not drinking something before I got into bed. But I did feel a little better, emotionally, and though I detest psychology, the phrase "sleeping on it" often describes how I feel after having allowed my brain some time to digest some uncomfortable new facts. In the larger scope of things, I'd been incredibly lucky-- no impairment of cognitive function from the episodes of increased intracranial pressure, no infection or other complications from the hospital or surgery, and a delayed onset of side effects from the chemotherapy-- some people got miserably sick right away. At least we'd had a few weeks before mine began to set in. Well, I'd just have to remind myself to try to stay scientific about monitoring my symptoms. If I could try to focus on tracking them and monitoring my responses in trying to accommodate them, perhaps I could distract myself about how much I hated it all happening in the first place.

I don't believe people become ill as a matter of fate, or divine punishment, or anything like that. Things happen without reason, or as a result of another person's actions, but I think we all control our own lives as best as we can. But accepting that randomness is a different story. Sighing, I got out of bed and pulled on your robe, making my way out to the living room to work for a while, since there was no point in trying to sleep right at this moment. I came down to the kitchen, had some water, then checked my email, finding I had a response from Delia that embodied all of the reasons I liked her so much. "_Temperance-- I'm sorry to hear it. I'll bring something tomorrow for you to try between now and Tuesday, but unless it changes markedly we can discuss it next week. Looking forward to seeing you and Seeley_." Short, to the point, sympathetic, and accepting of my ability to accurately report and monitor what was going on with me. I'd gotten lucky. So many doctors are either completely detached, or far too sympathetic, which I feel impairs their ability to render the objective advice a patient needs to truly make the best decisions. Delia made it clear she didn't always like the facts-- but she put them out there anyway. At the same time, though, she'd never been directly forced to deal with her body's rebelling against her, and it simply was a different perspective.

I thought some more, then decided, and began to type. "_Carol-- I'm sure your father told you that he and I met at Dr. Thornton's office. Since it's the middle of the night, I won't call him, but he invited me to do so and by sending you this email I'll have to commit to it. Would you please let him know I'll work myself up to calling him sometime in the next few days, or forward him this message? Many thanks-- Temperance_." Then I made my way through some students' emails, copying Daniel on the responses, and felt better after being able to be of some practical help to someone. When I returned to bed, you turned and pulled me to you, giving off your warmth. There wasn't much else either of us could do, but at least you were here, with me. I wouldn't want to do this alone.

- - -

Lunch with Henry and Delia was lovely-- and yes, Anamaria's vegetable antipasto _was_ delicious. She _is_ like Sid, if Sid was a little old Italian lady-- that bucatini Amatriciana was delicious, despite my usual aversion to quite so much bacon. Delia handled me a few prescription bottles while you and Henry were hanging up our coats, so I shook a pill out of each one and managed to take them before you made it back to the table. I'd tell you later. You'd brood if you saw me taking more pills right now.

An espresso and a plate of ricotta cheesecake with candied pumpkin appeared in front of me at the end of the meal. "Not too sweet, _caro_, and a little digestivo in the espresso." She'd brought you more of that torta you like, a piece twice the size of what she'd been bringing to other tables. This is what, your second time here, and she already knows how much pie you like? Amazing.

You and Delia were talking about your class at Quantico next week. I know you complain about doing it, but you're actually a very good instructor. Serious enough to scare your students into listening, and thorough, and clear. You're a better manager and teacher than you give yourself credit for; Sam was telling me he never has problems spilling out of your unit like he does with some other SAs.

"Bones, hey, penny for your thoughts?"

"Sorry, just pondering how wonderful you are, husband." Oh look, there it is, that goofy smile you get when I call you husband. I smiled in response. Henry just groaned. "You guys are impossible."

I fluttered my eyelashes at him. "It's part of our charm. It's actually all part of our evil plan to make everyone so sick of our company that we can just stay home and lie in bed eating ice cream all day, and then work it off with mad, passionate sex."

You smirked, then said, "Lots of ice cream, lots, so there's lots of working it off. You should try it sometime." Delia snorted her coffee, managing to get her napkin up to her face quickly enough to avoid spraying it all over the cranberry granita Anamaria had brought her.

Henry blushed, then grumbled. "Incorrigible, too."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, Dr. Apothecary Garden and muddy pants."

"Temperance!"

I laughed. "No really, if you could have seen it. Our room at Jack and Angela's place is up on the fifth floor, right where the southeast wing looks out over the gardens. It's a beautiful view, you can see all the way over to the lake, but that morning, there were five or six different couples all coming back into the house at the same time you two were, all dragging blankets back in with you. It was like the beginning of some silly romantic comedy, complete with irrepressible butler."

Delia snorted again. "He is irrepressible. After you two went upstairs, he actually left an enormous pile of blankets by the door with maps to the grounds. We certainly weren't going to avoid the hint, although I think that your parents left first, Seeley, after they got the band to play them a tango."

"Oh, lord. They tangoed? Was it ..."

"Very, um ... sensual," she replied, a twinkle in her eye. "And very . . . overt. Your friend Lance and his girlfriend were quite affected."

"I can imagine. Well, that's Mom and Dad for you, lecherous old coots that they are."

"Please," I said, rolling my eyes. "You're the one who got all excited about that teddy until I told you it was your mother's."

"Bones!"

- - -

We saw them back to their car, then walked back to yours. I'd left the Mustang at Jack's for the time being, since I didn't have a garage, and I didn't want my new baby exposed to the elements.

"I should get a new car," you said, as we got in.

"Why?"

"It's not the most child-safe of vehicles, and the back seat is practically non-existent. Parker won't need his booster seat much longer, but still, a sportscar is not the most practical of vehicles for a family, and there are going to be times when he and I will be driving without you. My trunk is not exactly large enough to soccer balls and childrens' sports equipment."

Oh, Bones. You want to replace your car for my kid? I mean, I know you love Parker, but your car is your car, after all. You never cease to amaze me. "I appreciate that, but on only one condition. I'm not driving a mini-van. I'd never hear the end of it at work."

"I was thinking an Audi station wagon. The red ones are nice."

"You know, there are more to cars than just colors, Bones."

"Booth, I know. The model I was looking at has a V6 engine, has an all-wheel drive system, and is fairly fuel-efficient for a larger vehicle."

"Okay, you know what you're talking about. Now knock it off with the car talk."

"Tip-tronic transmission."

"Stop it!"

"Fuel injection." Fine, you want fuel injection? I'll give you fuel injection, and there's a private park just up that road over there on the left that I think will fit the bill...

- - -

"Booth, it's broad ... ahhhhhhh ... daylight ... ooooh! Stop that! We could get caught ... unnnnhhhh... by the police!"

"Bones, I _am_ the police. And I don't really care. Besides... we're not going to get caught, no one ever patrols up here. And stop arguing with me, you should know better by now than to say things like slip-differential. "

"So ... aaahhh!! I'm ... not supposed to talk about ... oh my God! ah!... cars ever?"

"Get it through your cerebrum, Bones, you're not using your aural faculties correctly, by continuing to use your vocal cords to utter words deliberately designed to tease me. It's got to be some perverse anthropological..."

"Aaaahhhhh!" Heh. I didn't even have to say '_occipital_.'

- - -

"You're lucky I was with you."

"You're my wife, who else would I be with?" Hah. Wife.

"Still. We never would have gotten out of that if he didn't know who I was from my books."

"I can't believe I left my badge at home."

"What was it you said? '_No one ever patrols up here_.' Sure."

"We would have been fine if we'd taken the truck. It's not my fault your backseat is too small. He probably wouldn't have even gotten out of the car if we'd been able to just stay in the truck."

"He got out of the car because you were yelling the parts of the limbic system at the top of your lungs."

"No, he got out of the car because you screamed like a banshee when I said Cingulate Gyrus_._"

"Stop that."

"Hippocampus."

"Booth, stop it."

"Hypothalamus."

"How soon until we get home?"

- - -

"I definitely need to get a softer rug on the living room floor. And this blanket's not as cushy as it could be, either."

"I agree. The sixty feet between the front door and the bedroom is an inherently unreasonable distance to cross. Although we could try the couch, too, you know. It would be softer than the floor."

"No sarcasm out of you, missus."

"I was serious. I mean, 'Amygdala?' There was no way we were making it all the way back there."

I burst out laughing, you looking up at me with a smirk from where you were resting your head on my chest. "Bones, I love that you're such a hornball."

You snorted, the puff of air warm on my skin. "Like you're Special Agent Chastity yourself."

"Hey. Almost four years of pent-up energy to burn off here."

"I know." You snorted again. "Angela told me once that Jack and Zack only half-jokingly posited an experiment to see if there was a way to channel human sexual tension into an alternative fuel source. Something about our mutual frustration 'powering a small city.'"

"Small, hah."

"Nothing small here, thank you very much."

You scooted up a bit, then, pushing my arm down so you could settle in the crook, your arm and leg across me. "Thanks for coming to see Zack with me again this morning. I really appreciate it."

"Well, Bones, he's family. And if it helps, a little, then that's better than nothing." I was silent a moment, thinking about the way he'd listened as I finished the rest of the story this morning, a look of such concentration on his face like he was afraid that losing one word would be a catastrophe. His eyes were just another chink less dark when I'd done, and there'd actually been time to talk about the wedding and have what for him was a fairly animated and social conversation. Poor kid. "You know, I actually got a few interested replies to the people I called, but they're all civilians now. There are a few people who've moved up the chain of command that I called and haven't heard from yet-- it's always hard diverting their attention from what's in front of them."

Your hand came up to my face, stayed there. "I know the chair of the oversight committee-- his wife was a friend of Jack's parents, and she occasionally comes to the Jeffersonian Gala. I could call him, if you don't get a response. These kind of private-public things are always complicated to set up. We could talk to Bob, too, see if he knows anyone."

"I think you should make those calls anyway. Maybe pressure from a few sides will prompt them to call back. Do you think anyone will be actually interested? I mean, they should be, but..."

"I hope so. Did you talk to any of your friends about it this weekend?"

"Yes-- they all said they'd be interested in doing what they could, even if it's just publicity kinds of things-- they all have some friends they think might be, too."

"What about your what is he, a colonel now? He owes you a favor after that last case, and he certainly seemed to have no problem with the fact that you'd gotten out and moved on. He was very cooperative during the investigation. If you mention it, maybe he can talk to the people higher up the line."

"I don't know. He's up for review soon, it's a pretty political thing to ask him to do, he'd essentially be biting the hand that feeds him."

"It can't hurt to ask. If he says no, fine, but if he says yes, then you've got a potentially useful advocate, and at least a source of inside information."

"True. I'll give him a call. Thanks, Bones."

"Partners, Seeley."

"Partners." It was still early, not even supper time. "What do you want to do tonight? You know, I feel bad, we never even went on a date, Bones. You want to do something tonight?"

You laughed, propped yourself up on one elbow, smiling and with a merry look in your eye. "I never marry people I date. Just people I get shot at with. Don't worry about it."

"It's weird, huh? The being married thing?" I raised my arm up in the air, so I could look at my ring. You lifted your arm up, so your hand was next to mine, your rings catching the light. I'd taken to fiddling with my ring in the short time since the wedding, so much so that Sam had teased me in the coffee room when we were on break during that last policy manual meeting. He'd tapped my ring as I was filling my coffee mug, and said "It'll still be there ten minutes from now. You don't have to keep checking it." I hadn't realized I'd been doing it, and was sort of startled he'd noticed, but he laughed and said, "I did it too, for _months_ afterward. Still catch myself doing it. It's a better habit than your damned poker chip." It is.

"Not weird, just different. Change is an anthropological inevitability. We're simply evolving. But you can take me on a date, if you want. Though it won't change our family motto."

"What, _ut abyssus per ceterus vestrum_?"

You laughed. "I forgot to look it up. Is that what it translates to?"

"That's what Father O'Malley said."

"You asked him?"

"Hey, how many regular Latin speakers do you know?"

"True. Too true." You sat up, then, and surveyed the room. "How did my bra end up on the counter next to the sink?"

"No idea. Probably the same way my boxers ended up on the ceiling fan."

"Slob."

"Slob."

"C'mon, stinky," you said, extending a hand to pull me up. "Time to take a shower, I'll let you wash my back."

- - -

You were washing my hair as I pondered what we should do tonight. I didn't want to go to a movie, or stay in and watch television-- I wanted to do something that wouldn't let me brood. Jack and Angela had gone to New York for the weekend to see a show one of Angela's friends were having. We could go get dinner somewhere, but I was feeling pretty awake and tomorrow we'd have Parker, so we'd mostly be in fairly early, so it would be nice to be out a bit later, for once, assuming I stayed not as tired as I'd been today. "Want to call Cam and Sully and see if they want to have dinner and then go to O'Reilly's? Billy says they sometimes have _ceilidhs_ on Saturday night."

"What's that, a fiddling contest?"

"Sometimes a contest, sometimes a what... jam session?"

"Hey, Bones! Jam session is right!"

I turned and gave you a dirty look, then splashed some of the shower spray at you. "My grasp of vernacular vocabulary is not as bad as you all seem to think it is, you know."

You pulled me up for a kiss, and said, releasing me, "Ah, Bones, your shaky grasp of colloquial phrases is part of your charm."

I shot you my best "_I'll show you charm when we get to O'Reilly's and I change the lyrics to Under the Scotsman's Kilt, pally boy_" Charm Smile.

"What? I don't know that one, either. Bones, you're kicking my ass with all these new Charm Smiles."

"Don't worry about it. So, do you want to go, or not?"

"Sure. I'll call when we get out. But I'm not sure I quite like that look in your eye."

- - -

It was weird to be calling your apartment in order to reach Sully, but at least you were here, not there. Not that Sully had been anything but a good friend since he'd come back, and he and Camille were certainly fairly established, by now, but still. _My_ Bones. Mine.

"Peanut."

"Booth, man, what's up?"

"Bones is sick of my company and wants to go out for dinner and O'Reilly's. Are you guys busy?"

"Hold on, Cam's here, let me ask." Heh. She's at his place at five in the afternoon on a Saturday? Wonder what they're doing... "Sounds good. Any place in particular in mind for dinner?"

"No... you guys think of something, but not too dressy. I'm sick of suits for the week."

"Me too. Sometimes I think if I never see another necktie..." There was thunk, then Sully yelled "Camille!" I heard her calling in the background, "Try wearing heels all day, you whiny bastard!" Sully laughed, and said, "I thought you liked it when I rubbed your feet. If you stopped wearing heels, there'd be no reason to..." Another thunk.

I laughed. "Okay, I see you two have a conversation to finish. Why don't we swing by around seven?"

"Sounds good. Talk to you later."

I hung up. "What?" you asked, sitting naked on top of the bed as you towelled your hair.

"Camille didn't appreciate Sully's whining about neckties when he'd never had to wear heels."

"It's true. I'm sure that it isn't comfortable wearing a tie all day, but women's shoes are another thing entirely. Neckties are not designed to perpetuate the objectification of woman's bodies through the postural alteration of gait and stance the same way stilletos are."

"I think you look hot in stilletos."

"Well, clearly, then, that's all that matters."

"Absolutely."

"Hey!" I hate it when you throw your shoes at me. I hate it even more that you have really good aim.

- - -

"Not that I don't like watching you stand in front of a mirror, naked, I mean, twice the gorgeous view, but why are you putting on makeup? We're just going to hang out with Shaky and Peanut."

"Camille always looks well put-together, and if you want Billy to give us free drinks again, I'd better look presentable."

"Gussy away, then, Bones, gussy away."

I was shaving in the bathroom when you came back in, in your underwear, makeup and hair done. That was a set I hadn't seen before, and it was even sheerer and barer than what you'd worn at the wedding.

"Bones. Jesus."

You smirked. "Don't you dare. It's 6:30, and if we're late, I'll sing you in to something scathing at O'Reilly's later." And then you turned, and I saw it was an even skimpier thong than the french one. Good lord-- you _are_ trying to kill me, that's the only possible conclusion. I weighed my options, and decided. What the hell-- you probably would have done something to embarrass me in front of a bar full of men anyway, and I'm not one for delayed gratification.

"Booth!"

"I'll replace these ones, too."

"Aaahhh!"

- - -

We rang the bell at seven-thirty, having gotten no answer when I tried calling to let them know we'd be late. That set was brand new, I can't believe you, you lecherous lingerie despoiler.

"Coming!" I heard. Sully opened the door, jeans on and shirtless, towelling his hair.

"Hey, sorry, was that you calling earlier?" He smirked, and stood aside to let us in. "We were, uh..."

You snorted, and pushed us in past the doorway. "Doing the same thing Bones and I were probably doing." There was a hairdryer going in the bathroom. "You kids finish up. Is there beer in the fridge?"

Sully nodded. "Yeah, there's a half-open bottle of red on the counter, too. Help yourselves."

I headed over into my kitchen. He hadn't really changed much around the apartment, except for the clutter on the table and evidence of clothes from him and Camille. "Beer, Booth?"

"Please." You flopped down on my sofa. If you only knew about the number of times I had fantasies about you and this sofa... and the dining room table ... and, well, okay, every room in the place. Maybe we'd have time to christen it once Sully got his living arrangements sorted out.

I came back over, sat back down beside you, a beer for me and for you in my hand. "How you doing, Bones?"

"Fine."

"You seem less tired."

"Delia gave me something to try. The combination seems to help. I have to take more in an hour."

"When did that happen?"

"You two were hanging up coats."

"You feel better, though?"

"Mmm-hmm." I patted your leg, took a sip of my beer. "Still here," I said, and rested my head on your shoulder. You didn't respond, except to snug your arm tighter around my shoulder and kiss my temple before pulling a swig of your beer.

"Sully got a TV," I commented.

"Well, I don't think he's interested in the multi-volume history of Pre-Colombian funerary rites or Hindu religious belief analyses."

I smacked you, and you yelped, "Bones!" just as Camille came into the room.

"Grace, you look nice," she said, coming over to sit down next to me and bat her eyes flirtatiously.

"Thanks, Shaky, I must say you're looking very nice yourself. What do you say we ditch the boys and go dancing?"

"No way," you growled. "I am not leaving you two alone. I thought you two used to hate each other."

I turned and smiled at you, licking my lips. "I used to hate you, too, you know."

You barked a laugh, and replied. "Then I am _especially_ not happy with the idea of you two going out on the town."

Sully came out then, and clapped his hands, before saying, "Okay, then. Fish and chips, or wings, or Indian?" Booth, he totally stole that clapping thing from you.

- - -

"I've never eaten so much fried fish in my life. Bones, I don't know how you put all that stuff away."

"I like malt vinegar and Branston pickle." Great. At least now I know how to get you to eat, even if it's the most disgusting condiments I've ever tasted. You probably like Marmite, too. That stuff is just nasty.

It was still on the early side, and the chip shop we'd gone to was only a few blocks from O'Reilly's, so we'd decided to walk. You were still looking lively, less tired than you'd been most evenings-- I'm glad for whatever it was that Delia gave you. You and Cam were walking ahead, plotting something horrible no doubt, but you were moving well, and had your usual bounce in your step, not to mention those gorgeous skintight jeans you'd put on with those high heeled black boots you like to wear. I'm glad Angela helped out with the clothes-- you definitely feel better when you're a little girly.

"She looks better."

"Yeah-- something Delia gave her today when we went met them for lunch."

"How much longer is this round?"

"Four more weeks. Then a week off while they do some more biopsies and other tests, and then we'll see. I'm glad it's been slow."

Sully nodded, said "Me, too," then changed the subject. "I'm going to be moving out of Temp's place after Thanksgiving."

I shot him a look-- he was grinning. "Do I need to ask where you'll be staying after that?"

"Well, it will be a new place, for both of us."

"You work fast, man."

"Like you don't? I mean, two months from start to finish."

"Two months, four years, same thing. When did you guys decide that?"

"When she called me to complain that all her heels were at Temp's place, and she only had flats left in her closet."

"Nice."

"I thought so."

We'd reached the bar by then, the two of you getting ready to open the door, so I jogged up.

"Now, now, Bones, Cam, Billy will kill Sully and me if he sees we didn't get the door for you, and then we'll be pouring beers all night instead of enjoying your company."

Cam laughed. "Maybe we want to be alone."

Sully just groaned. "Stop it. Just, stop it, alright? I'm still having flashbacks from the wedding."

I added my grumble. "You and every Squint, Cop, and other man in a twenty-mile radius. I had guys coming up to me in the office wanting to know if it was true that my bride had ditched me for her bridesmaid on our wedding night."

I opened the door then, and Sully and Cam went in, my hand on your back as we entered. Billy looked up from pouring a beer, and called out "Temperance, my love!" He was so happy to see you-- looks like we really _are_ going to drink for free. You walked over behind the bar, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Billy, you rascal. What are you pulling?"

"Ah, my dear, I'm working on a raft of Smithwick's. Are you going to be a lamb and help me? The rest of your sorry crew can pull up the Booth-Brennan booth over there, if you like. Just throw those lazybones from Surveillance out, tell them I said they can have the one over here," he said, jerking his head at a smaller booth that was still well sited to the rest of the bar.

"Billy, you're too good to us," I said, and he laughed. "It's all for the lovely Temperance, Boothy, my boy. Don't think I'll be soon to forgive you for depriving me of her company all of these years." Then he shot me a wink, and called over to the guys sitting in our booth. "Callahan! You and your louts vacate that booth and come keep me company over here, will you? I've got a tale I want to tell and it's too busy for me to come over all the way over there."

Mel and the other guys got up as we reached the table, him giving me a wink as he passed. "Billy's so polite when he's playing favorites. Your lady doctor's all he's been talking about since the last time you were in."

"What can I say?"

He laughed. "Just get her to sing him a few more tunes. He was so happy, the last time."

We sat, and I watched as you picked up four beers and walked them over to a table where the D.C. chief and some of his cronies were sitting, then turned to go back and take three more from Billy, then returned to the bar to pull out three pints of Murphy's. Bones, I'm probably going to find that you wrote a paper about the sociological significance of a well-poured pint, too. Billy was nodding as you showed him the first pint for approval, and smiling fit to beat the band. You delivered the pints you'd just poured and a bottle of Glenmorangie to the coroners you'd drunk under the table the last time you were here, exchanging some crack with them that had them all laughing. You returned to the bar, and Billy shooed you out, back over to our table, where you slid in next to me.

"He's debating which expensive bottle of whiskey to waste on us next," you said, your eyes sparkling. "I told him I wanted to start with some beers, first, though, so he's going to pour us something. Can we adopt him as a grandfather?"

Cam laughed. "I'm sure he'll do anything you want."

Billy appeared then, a tray full of Murphy's and a bottle of Iona scotch in hand. "Drink up boys and girls, and get all your conversation out soon. The band'll be here soon, and I am claiming Temperance and Camille for a reel or two. You two scallywags will have to don aprons for at least part of the night."

"Yes, Mr. O'Reilly," I saluted, and he laughed, before ruffling my hair. He is kind of like a grandpa. An alcoholic, fun, loud grandpa. Yeah, we can adopt him.

- - -

The four of us hung out for a bit, working on our pints and chatting, but a lot of people kept coming over to say hello and congratulations, as well as to bring us congratulatory bottles of booze for our evening's consumption. By the time an hour had past, the four of us had somehow agreed to do a lab and techniques tour at the Jeffersonian for the D.C. chief. Must have been the way he sucked up to me about my "lovely wife." And then the band was tuning up on the side of the room. I'd gone up to get another round of pints, Billy chiding me for leaving too much of a head on top when I poured. "Sorry, Billy. I'm not quite the student Temperance is."

He just smiled. "Well, you keep bringing her by and you'll learn, my boy."

"Me bring her by? I just does what she tells me."

"That you should!"

There were a lot of musicians in the band, I saw what Billy meant when he said to get our talking out of the way. A man carrying a bass came in the door then, and looked across the room, right at you. I was still finishing pulling our beers, so I just watched as he made a beeline over to the booth. He was taller than me, pretty skinny, but not bad looking. I didn't like him.

"Temperance Brennan! You old sot!"

You looked up and smiled. "Kevin! Out of all the whiskey bars in all the world, you walk into this one?" Nice parlaying of the Casablanca reference, there, Bones. Okay, I don't like the way he's so happy to see you. Time to go. I got back to the table quickly, setting down the beers as the guy continued to stare at you. You stood, then, and came around him to stand next to me. "Kevin," you said, taking my arm, "there's someone I'd like you to meet. Booth, this is Kevin O'Rourke, my guide and drinking partner while I was digging at Dillkoonen. Kevin, this is Seeley Booth, my work partner and more recently, husband." Heh. You called me husband. In front of a pretty good-looking guy. Heh.

"Nice to meet you," I said, deciding to play nice since you'd just called me husband in front of a room full of people, and extended my hand.

He smiled, shook hands, and said, "Oh, it's lovely to meet you. You know, Temperance here introduced me to my love, she's good luck that way." He turned back to you then, and said, "In fact, he should be here any moment, he's deigned to sing for us tonight." He? Excellent. Now I really _could_ play nice.

"Have a seat, Kevin," I said, sliding into the booth again, and pushing the beers back to Cam and Sully. He smiled, gave me a '_You're cute, but don't think I didn't notice you getting all alpha-male on me before I cleared the air there_,' Charm Smile, and said, "Oh, we've got to set up, you know, but perhaps I'll let you buy us around when we break." He turned back to you, laid a kiss on your cheek, and said, "I'll send Declan over when he gets here."

You were filling us in on how you'd met Kevin when another man came over, shorter and red-haired, with a merry expression. "Brennan!" he exclaimed, sitting right down next to you and laying a kiss on your cheek. He smiled around the table, introduced himself as Declan, and began nagging at you to sing. "Temperance, you have to, it will be like old times."

You demurred-- "No, not just yet. You get the room warmed up and maybe I'll join you after the break." He made you promise, and at a call from Kevin, got up to return to the band.

"How'd you meet those guys, Bones?"

You smiled. "Well, in addition to dating killers, con artists, and slimy professors, I had a streak of boyfriends in college and grad school who were all remarkably chivalrous. We'd have a great time, but it never went anywhere, and when I would inevitably point out to them that they were gay, the only logical next step was to introduce them all to each other. Declan and Kevin ended up hitting it off-- I'd met Declan at Trinity, and he came out to visit me at the _crannog_ one weekend, right after I'd told Kevin we weren't going to work out so long as I lacked a penis."

Sully snorted his beer across the table. "Jesus, Tempe. Warn a guy, will you?"

You laughed. "I just introduced them that weekend. They took it from there. They moved here a few years later, they actually live in New York, I'm surprised to see them here."

I shook my head. "Serendipity, Bones." You gave me a shy smile, but just nodded.

- - -

The band started off with a loud series of reels, and Billy did indeed claim you and Camille for several dances each. Mel from Surveillance came around to help me and Sully at the bar, as we watched Billy enjoying himself with the two of you, while the guys waiting on their beers gave us shit for foamy heads and stingy pours. Sully laughed as he pushed another row of boilermakers across the bar. "Andy, anything less than an entire bottle is a stingy pour for you."

When Billy came back, he patted all three of us on the back and pulled down bottles of Iona for all of us. "Thank you, laddies, now get back to work drinking me out of house and home."

You and Kevin were dancing to some fast-paced thing on a piece that I guess didn't need his bass, and looking like you were having a fine time. Declan was looking on wistfully, like he was ready to dance with Kevin, too-- they'd probably decided not to in a bar full of meathead cops. Deciding it was time to be a real alpha-male, I walked over and shot him a wink as I offered him my hand. "Since they don't want to dance with either of us, may I have this dance?"

He looked up in surprise, then laughed and jumped up, saying "Fine, but I'm leading." I couldn't help but snort in response. "Sorry. The taller partner always leads, man." And then he grabbed my hand and pulled me out on the floor, letting me twirl him a few times and surprising an "Ohhhhh!" out of the crowd until we made our way over to you and switched partners, Kevin cutting in as we reached them to take Declan's hand, and shooting me a broad wink and a smile.

You were howling with laughter when I called after him, "You can dance with me later!"

"I love you," you said, when I pulled you to me. "That was really nice."

"They're cute," I said, "and they're not the only couple in here who might not otherwise dance tonight. Figured I'd bring my alpha-male skills to bear."

We danced a while more, until we were both totally sweaty, and you tugged me back to the table. Cam and Sully were up dancing, so we worked on the bottle still on the table, watching the crowd. Sure enough, Mel and his boyfriend from White Collar were dancing, as well as Linda from Raleigh and her coroner girlfriend, and no one seemed to be batting an eye. "Rangers lead the way," I smirked, then clinked glasses with you before we finished the bottle.

"Boothy!" called Billy, beckoning me over, waving another bottle in the air. I trotted over, wondering if he was going to be upset about the dancing thing, but as I came behind the bar to get the bottle, he pulled me into a hug. "You're a good boy," he said in my ear. "Those four come in here all the time." Then he turned me around and pushed me off, another pat on my shoulder.

Kevin did claim me for a dance, to catcalls from the floor while you danced with Declan, but it all seemed to be in good humor, and then they settled in for some of the slower songs. You did join them for "_Danny Boy_," and "_The Fields of Athenry_," as well as another one I'd never heard before, "_The Lake of Ponchartrain_," which was really pretty and left not a dry eye in the house, but then took a break while Declan led the crowd in some bawdier songs. You and Camille had your heads together while Peanut and I were helping Billy out later, when the night shift came in around 11:30 and were packed deep against the bar, but whatever you two were up to seemed to subside, as you came to spell us at the taps and sent us back with beers to wait.

"I'm thinking of asking Camille to marry me," Sully said, sipping his beer. Wow. I wasn't expecting that.

"I thought she said she wasn't interested in marriage."

"No-- said she didn't want kids, that's all. Which is fine, I don't really, either."

"When were you thinking of asking?"

"Oh, I'll wait until after Thanksgiving. Got to meet her family, first."

"They're a hoot. I'm sure they'll like you, man."

He paused. "Did you two talk about..."

"Yes and no. She's great with Parker, and if that's it, then that's fine. Too much else to think about in the meantime to push the issue."

He shot me a look, but just nodded and changed the subject.

- - -

I figured out what you and Cam were up to right before the band wrapped up its last set. The two of you got up there and grabbed mics as Declan whispered to the band, and they started a tune I was pretty sure I recognized. You shot me the same smile you'd given me in the shower earlier, just as I recognized the first verse. Uh oh. I laughed, and Sully did too. "I think we're in trouble, man," he said, finishing his beer.

You two left the bulk of the song alone, singing the first verse, "_A__ Scotsman clad in kilt left the bar one evening fair/ And one could tell by how he walked he'd drunk more than his share/ He staggered on until he could no longer keep his feet/ Then stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street_" before leading the crowd in the chorus, "_Ring ding diddle diddle i de o/ Ring di diddle i o_..." then singing the last verse of the stanza. Sully and I sighed in relief, though, when you made it all the way through the song without working me or Sully into it. There was a cheer from the crowd as you repeated the final line, "_Lad, I don't know where you've been but I see you won first prize_" but then I realized we were doomed when the band started the song again, and you two changed the first verse and began again.

"_Two Bureau lads both clad in kilts left O'Reilly's one evening fair/ And one could tell by how they walked they'd drunk more than their share..._" The crowd yelled out, the guys who'd been here last time turning to raise their beers to us in the corner. "Now, we're doomed," I said, pouring us both shots.

You changed the next verse, too, singing, "_Later on two young and lovely girls just happened by/ And each says to the other with a twinkle in her eye/ You see yon sleeping Bureau lads, so young and handsome built /I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath their kilt_s."

You kept singing the song, changing the words about the Bureau men and the ribbons the girls had left, keeping the original Scotsman's response the same for the required final verse, singing "_Lad, I don't know where you've been but I see you won first prize_", then the two of you shot one another evil grins, pulled out blue ribbons from your pockets, and sang to each other, "_Lass, you're right, I've seen many men, but these two win first prize!_" There was a roar from the bar, as you two raised your ribbons and shook them at us, repeating, "_Lass, you're right, I've seen many men, but these two win first prize!_"

- - -

"Oh, my God," said Sully. "I may make it twelve hours or more on that alone."

"Tell me about it." I shot him a leer. "Time to go, Peanut?"

"Double-time, caveman style, o Hypothetical Subparticle," he replied, an answering leer in place.

You two were still laughing and exchanging high fives with the band when we reached you, jogging over from where we'd been sitting.

"Ready?" I asked, and Sully grinned.

The crowd roared when we picked you up and threw you over our shoulders before turning to jog out of the bar.

- - -

You're right, the couch is more comfortable than the floor, and that blue ribbon is really cute tied in a bow in your hair. Especially when you're too floppy to beat me up. I wonder if I still have that kilt from that time I went undercover at those Highland Games that had been infiltrated by drug dealers...


	40. Chapter 40

40

I hate that alarm. I hate it because you always put it on your side of the bed. I hate it because it's loud and shrill. I hate it because you always lie on top of me so I can't move and turn it off myself. I hate it because I have to poke you at least six or seven times before you wake up enough to turn it off, or more usually throw it across the room. Seriously, that is the sturdiest alarm in the world, since you've tossed it at least a dozen times since I came home. And what's with the heavy sleeping anyway? I thought you were a sniper, and were supposed to have hair-trigger reflexes? Yet here you are, snoring like a rhinoceros, and weighing me down with your manly, yet really heavy physique. Rrgh. I hate that alarm. One of these days I'm going to karate chop you, and you're going to regret it then, buddy.

- - -

Boy, did you get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

- - -

No, I didn't get up on ANY side of the bed this morning, because I couldn't MOVE, and therefore couldn't turn off the ALARM so that I could go back to sleep. There's a difference. Now get off.

--

But Bones, you're warm, and soft. Why would I want to get up?

- - -

You could at least put the alarm on my side of the bed, so I can turn it back off. By the time you throw the thing across the room, I'm wide awake.

- - -

Fine.

- - -

Fine.

- - -

Hey Bones…

- - -

What is it now?

--

Goose poop.

--

"It's not that funny."

"Of course it is. We just had our second fight and your head didn't explode."

"Okay, fine."

"Goose poop."

"Okay, really not funny now."

- - -

Parker trotted out of the house and down the walk. You were still cranky about the alarm thing, and had swatted the hell out of me in the shower. I mean, come on, Bones, you usually only hit me once or twice before we … damn, you were really pissed off, I think that's the first time since we've started showering together that ... Hmm, maybe you're getting your period, which normally would be a bad thing, except now it's a good thing, since it at least means you're getting fat again, and I'm not losing the special Seeley touch. Wait, where… oh, you're just getting out to let him into the car.

"Hey, Parker!"

"Dr. Bones!"

You lifted him up into the seat, buckling him in like a pro. Hmm. Maybe a compliment will soften you up?

"Bones, you're a pro at that."

"I do have three doctorates. I think I can figure out how to use a booster seat." Oh boy, you're really mad. I'll just talk to Parker.

"Hey, buddy, what do you want to do after church today?"

"Can we go to the Children's Museum?"

"Whaddya think, Bones?"

"What's there that you want to see, Parker?" Wait, did you just ignore me and pretend like you were responding directly to Parker?

"There's stuff about magnets, and waves in the ocean, and helicopters, and a big maze that goes all around the outside, and a really good ice cream stand outside. Mommy says they have coffee fudge ripple." Awesome. The kid learns fast.

"Well, if there's coffee fudge ripple, that sounds good to me. Your father should drive us there after we get some lunch, maybe the diner?" Your father? Geesh, that didn't take long. We've been married what, two whole weeks now? Okay, fine. I mean, I said you could have the alarm on your side of the bed, but what's a man to do when there's something so tempting to sleep on top of. You wouldn't want to get up either if you were sleeping on top of you. Okay, I'm just going to keep my mouth shut here.

"I love the diner. They have great pie!" You snorted. Okay, well, now that Parker's okayed our plans, it's probably safe to respond.

"Diner and Children's Museum it is." I shot you a look, tried a '_I promise I'll turn the alarm off the first time it goes off, I swear_' smile, to which you only responded with the Evil '_Not good enough, I want my own alarm on my side of the bed_' Glare. Damn.

- - -

"Hello, Father, how are you?"

"Wonderful, Temperance, thank you for asking. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thank you for asking. Parker, can you shake Father O'Malley's hand, please?"

He did, and you took his hand, and walked out before I was even done shaking Father's hand.

"Seeley, whatever you did? She's really mad. You'd better apologize, maybe even come to confession."

"I just let the alarm ring for too long! I don't know why she's so mad."

"For how long?"

"Three, five minutes."

"Sorry, I'm on her side." Damn, Bones, you don't even believe in God and my priest is taking your side. I'd better stop at the store before we even go to lunch.

- - -

"Dad, where are we going?"

"The store. I, uh… need another alarm clock. Ours is … uh … broken."

"Can we get some candy when we're there?" You snorted. Yes, he's a Booth. He's always hungry.

"Maybe. We'll see how much money is left after we get the alarm clock, okay?"

"Why?"

So then you started explaining all about budgets, and not spending more than you could afford to during the week, and he took it all in like a sponge. I mean, I don't suppose we really need a budget, but it's good for him to understand people aren't made of money, and I know he sometimes bugs Rebecca about toys, so fine. I hadn't figured out how to talk to him about it anyway. Even when you're mad at me, you're right.

- - -

"Stop nuzzling my neck in the checkout line. I'm still annoyed with you."

"Bones, why are you annoyed with Daddy?"

"Oh, Parker, did you pick out your candy? Does it cost less than 1.50?" Way to deflect the question, Bones, with another question.

"It says one, two, and five on it. That's less than one, five, and zero, right?"

"Absolutely correct, Parker, you're a fast learner. Here, hand me the candy and we'll pay for it, and since you helped us stay within budget, you can have the extra quarter." Wait. Did you just teach him how to read prices and the importance of saving money? God, he's going to be a squint by the time he's seven.

- - -

We were standing watching Parker climb all over the maze, you having taught him the less of delayed gratification by making him show you all the educational things first, and then telling him more stuff that wasn't on the exhibits. He's going to dump me for you if you keep this up. You'll get stepmother of the year.

"Bones, I'm sorry. Really."

"Sorry for what?" Oh, good, at least you were talking to me.

"I'm sorry I snore like a rhinoceros."

"And?" Okay, you were still pretty mad, but again, at least you were talking to me.

"And, I'm sorry that you're so soft and delightful to sleep with that I never want to move and turn off the alarm that annoys you so much."

You snorted. "That's more of an excuse than an apology."

"I am sorry. And I got you an alarm, right?"

"Only because you know I'll karate chop you if you let that damned thing run more than thirty seconds again."

"There's that, but really, I'm sorry. And I promise, I'll only snore like an adolescent rhino from now on."

"Not good enough."

"A warthog?"

"I'll settle for an orangutan with bad sleep apnea."

"Done. Orangutan it is. Can I have a kiss now? Please? Pretty please with tofu on top?"

"Fine." You came in for a kiss, smiling, and just as your lips were about to meet mine, you whispered.

"Goose poop."

I'm really sorry I snorted and sprayed spit all over you, but really, it's your fault.

- - -

"So, Parker, your dad and I have to go to a Halloween party tomorrow night at my work. I usually go as Wonder Woman, but my costume got wrecked last year when your dad and I were at work, so now I need something to wear. Want to help me go through my clothes and find something?"

"Yeah!"

He trailed you back to the room. I had to see this. I poked my head in. "Can I join you two?"

"Sure, just bring in his stool so he can get a better look in the closet?"

I plunked it down right in the middle of your half of the closet, and he climbed right on up. He was intently pushing through the dresses you'd hung, and was making "No, no, no, no," noises as he discarded each one. Finally, he seemed to find something. "This one!"

You went into the closet, and pulled it out, one eyebrow raised as you looked at me. "I haven't worn that one in a while, but your daddy likes it, so let me go try it on to see if it fits."

You took it, and went into the bathroom to change.

"Looks good, Bones."

Parker echoed the sentiment, though probably for other reasons than me. "You look real pretty!" he yelled. God, we've got to work on his inside voice. I'm starting to go deaf. What, does Rebecca only talk to him from the other side of the house?

You smiled, and said thank you, then went back in the bathroom to change back. I went into the bureau, pulled out some things I thought would go, and laid them out for Parker's approval. "Yeah, Daddy, that's cool."

Well, if Parker thinks it's cool, then who needs more? You came back in, then, and snorted. "I guess that's all set, then. Not very original, but it'll work."

- - -

We dropped him off the next morning, you carting our costumes out to the car. "We can change in my office when I get back from class." You called in to Cam to remind her you'd be over at Quantico this morning, and in seminar this afternoon.

"Oh, yes, we'll make the party. We have our costumes in the car. No, not Wonder Woman this year. Shaky, I'm not going to tell you. You'll see it later. Mmm-hmm. Okay, bye." You turned to me. "Do you think they'll get the joke?"

"Do you really care?"

"Not really. To hell with the rest of them."

"That's my Bones."

- - -

You got up at the front of the room, to address the twenty or so men and women sitting before you, looking utterly terrified of the great and powerful Seeley Booth. (Nice Oz reference, there, Bones). I sat off to the side with Caroline, who'd agreed to play defense counsel as you and I took turns playing prosecution and witness. It was a different pedagogical approach, one clearly appropriate to the situation, which required less individual thinking, and more mastery of foundational principles. You reviewed all the basics of an appropriate investigation, talked about how things could go wrong, and then called me over.

"Okay, kids. The whole point of a successful investigation is what?" You looked out expectantly.

A few people chimed in. "A conviction." "A plea."

You nodded. "Preferably a plea, on the sentencing structure the AUSAs recommend, because Caroline there, she's a busy lady and would rather put people in jail than spend every living moment trying cases. You should be conferring with your AUSA throughout the course of the investigation, so they can give you a heads up and you can do the same—it might make a difference in whether you get a confession. Now, we're going to give you an example of what happens when you do things right, and when you do things wrong, and screw things up for our expert. My lovely wife Temperance here, the inestimable and scary Dr. Brennan, is going to get up and lay the foundation for a case we had where chain of custody, conflict of interest, and spoliation issues came into play. Someone remind me what spoliation and conflicts of interest are, again?" I thought back to that case where Jack had had to resign, pending the outcome of the prosecution. That was a tough twenty-four hours, finding untouched evidence he hadn't contributed to. It was a good example for them to learn from.

A nervous-looking young man in the front row answered correctly, and you looked down at your class chart to make sure you had his name. "Good man, Andrews." The boy smiled like you'd given him a lollipop. You clapped your hands then. "Okay, you all have the fact patterns in front of you. While Dr. Brennan's on the stand, I'm going to pretend to be Caroline, and Caroline's going to get up and make objections as defense counsel. I'll let you know if the objection was sustained or denied, and when we're done, I want to go through all the objections and you need to tell me why Caroline made the objection, what the relevance of the testimony was to the facts of the case, and why the judge either sustained or allowed the evidence. No volunteers on this one. I'm going in alphabetical order."

Seeley, they looked absolutely terrified. Even I don't call on my students in alphabetical order. Caroline just snickered, and then I was on. They did well, though, and when we ran through the analysis, you were able to mostly stick to fleshing out the investigatory concepts a little more, Caroline occasionally contributing comments on the objections, and me occasionally on the way the science was relevant. Then we ran through the Carol and Andy case—we'd agreed it would be a good chance to re-familiarize ourselves with the facts of the NCJA seminar. They had a few questions about the science, but seemed to get the basic concepts.

We did your probable cause for a warrant and warrantless search scenarios, Caroline having fun acting like a bombastic defense attorney, and again, the students seemed to follow as I first screwed up the foundation, then did it the textbook way. It's funny—you absorb so much sitting in the stand, it really wasn't that hard. Maybe I could go to law school part time.

"Okay. Good job, people. You've got the assignment for two weeks from now, any questions, send me an email. Do not call my cell unless you're going to miss class. We'll stick around a bit after, for any more questions you might have, but if anyone asks Temperance for autographs, she will shoot you." There was a round of nervous laughs, so I played along and shot them my Evil Death Glare. Hah. Works every time.

There actually were a few questions, good ones, and we took turns explaining more about how the judges tended to rule on different issues, and then it was time to go. The three hours had passed very quickly, and there was more than enough time for lunch.

- - -

"Ladies, thanks so much, I thought that went well. Bones, that EDG at the end was really good." You snorted.

"You're abbreviating it now?"

Caroline piped in. "What's an EDG?"

You turned and smiled, then shot her the EDG. Ooh, even Caroline shrank. "It's my Evil Death Glare. Patented, so if you try it, make sure to give me credit."

Caroline laughed. "No, cherie, I can't do that thing with the eyebrow. It's all yours. Now, Booth, you owe me lunch, and I heard about a new place that just opened that I think you'll really like."

"I was kind of in the mood for the diner."

"Cherie! I did you a favor, I get to pick the place." Okay, fine. I do know better than to contradict her.

- - -

Caroline gave me directions, and there was a parking place out in front. I hadn't noticed it, though it was just around the corner from the diner, in the place Wong Fu's used to be before Sid left and the next people ran it into the ground. It had been gutted and sat empty since. How hadn't I noticed it had been redone?

It did look nice—cool neon, and comfy-looking booths inside from what I could see. The sign said WF2, and I wondered what it meant. There already appeared to be a good-sized crowd, unusual for a new place, and I wondered what was so special about the place—at least until we walked inside, and I caught a glimpse of the man behind the counter.

"Sid! Oh my God! Sid!"

You leant in to Caroline, and murmured. "He definitely married the wrong person. But his meatloaf is awfully good."

"Sid!"

- - -

"Bones, you're not sitting."

"I'm leaning on the chalkboard. Sit down and be quiet, we have ten more minutes. Class, that's Special Agent Seeley Booth, the most pain in the rear work partner and husband a forensic anthropologist could ever have. Just ignore him." Heh. You called me husband in front of the class.

Daniel continued. "Now, under desert conditions, the importance of a re-humidifier is essential to prevent further deterioration of the remains…"

Blah, blah, blah. Even I knew that arid conditions coupled with unpredictable windflow, _simooms_, and disturbed layers of sand grit affected the integrity of remains, making restoration of moisture to the remaining tissues and skeletal parts critical to gain any evidence from them. Wait. I knew that?

- - -

You'd already changed into the dress when I came back into your office. "Bones, come on, the party's already started. How much longer is this going to take?"

"I'll have you know this makeup is rather time consuming, and putting this much product in my hair rather tricky. One wrong move with the curling iron, and I look like a refugee from a Dead Lepard contest."

"Def Lepard, Bones, Def."

"Whatever. It's not fair, yours takes much less time to assemble."

"Yes, well, it took care in selecting the whole outfit. The execution is automatic once I finished picking it out." You snorted and rolled your eyes. I sat there and enjoyed watching you get ready, and finally, you were done.

"Ready?" I offered you my arm.

You stood in front of me, adjusted my hat and suspenders, and shot me a smile straight out of Vegas, saying, "Let's go get 'em, Tiger."

Yeah, that dress is hot. I mean, I liked the red one a lot, a lot, too. But that black one? Oh, yeah. How funny that Parker picked out the same one his dad did? I am definitely screwed when he starts liking girls.

- - -

Jaws dropped, and I mean _dropped_, when you stalked in on my arm, strutting in those stilettos in full Roxie mode, and I will say I turned a few heads myself. We definitely put Cam and Sully's Mary Ann and the Professor ensemble to shame, although I did like Jack and Angela's Sonny and Cher combo. You filled out that dress just fine; you were still a little thinner than you'd been when you first wore it, but it was skintight then and followed your gorgeous curves just fine now. And that red lipstick? Sweet god almighty, Bones. I mean, there were at least fifty guys at this party I was going to have to shoot.

"Oh, my God, sweetie," drooled Angela, running over to us. "_Where_ did you get that?"

You laughed. "Remember when Booth and I went to Las Vegas? We had to go undercover. He's Tony, the washed-up dumb boxer, and I'm Roxie, his sugar mama."

I gave Angela my best dumb palooka leer, and she burst out laughing. "At least now I know what Booth meant when he said "That's hot." Because _that_, Bren, is hot. Can I borrow it sometime?"

Jack wandered up, just in time to hear Angela's question. "Dr. B., you'd be doing me a _serious_ personal favor if you let her borrow that dress."

You cooed, and ran your hand down Jack's chest. "Oooh, Jackie, when you put it that way, how can I possibly say no?" His eyes glazed over. Fortunately, so did Angela's.

You turned to me, and said, "I'm going to go schmooze. You want to come?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm gonna stand here and watch you walk away on those pegs of yours, Roxie. And then I'm gonna ogle the rest of the chicks. You come back when you're tired of playing in the little leagues."

You shot me a look over your shoulder, licked your lips, and walked off, every guy on this side of the room watching as you strutted off on those heels, your hips swaying hypnotically. What was that line from "_Some Like it Hot?_" I really was going to have to shoot them all for ogling you. You're _my_ Bones, _mine_.

"Sweet mother of God," muttered Clark, dressed in a fireman's uniform, handing me a beer.

"You got that right," mumbled Sully. "I mean, Jesus, Booth, she never wore anything like that when _we_ were dating. Holy Christ, man. Where the _hell_ did she get that dress?" I was inordinately pleased to learn you'd never put that dress on for him, and that me, your husband, was the first and last person to see you in it before tonight. Hah. Because you're my wife.

I smirked. "Vegas, baby. Like jello on stilts, boys."

Clark just shook his head. "You're not kidding. Damn. I mean that in only the most respectful, most professional manner. But Dropout, man, I may have to start calling her Dr. Hot-damn."

"S'alright, Dumbass. I happen to agree."

I looked over then, and saw some old coot dressed in a Roman toga seemed to be getting a little handsy with you.

"Anyone know if the Roman emperor over there is someone the lab can't afford to lose? I don't like the way his hand's creeping up Bones' arm."

"Oh, him? He's the entymology department head," piped in Jack. "He's a jackass. You could go toss him over the railing, but let me go lay a bet in first."

"Okay, point out who're the moneybags, so I don't unnecessarily antagonize the donors."

Jack pointed them out, Clark looking interested. "The dude in the lime green leisure suit, Cleopatra, the gypsy with the purple top on, the vampire with the red bow tie, and the four guys dressed up like the Village People. Oh, and the guy Cam's talking to in the Beefeater costume is the chair of the House Ways and Means Committee, so be nice to him."

Ways and Means, hmm? Well, we'll see. First, to dispatch the emperor, who was definitely not getting the hint that you were done with the conversation.

"Wish me luck, boys, and gentlemen, place your bets," I said, tipping my hat and heading across the room.

- - -

I was desperately trying to get Dr. Harris from Entymology to let go of my arm, but he seemed mesmerized by my cleavage and wasn't getting the message. He is rather older and frail, and I didn't want to make any sudden moves that would make him lose his balance and become injured. I was therefore quite relieved to hear a "Hey, Roxie!" from a few feet away. Turning, Dr. Harris' hand still on my arm, I saw you had that '_My Bones, mine, old man_,' look on your face, which is really quite an intimidating look for you, perhaps even more so than the '_I'm going to beat a confession out of you_' look, not that you usually have to act on it—the suspects usually cave in right away. You reached me, and slung an arm around my shoulder a la Tony the Tiger, hauling me around until Dr. Harris had no choice—he could either let go, or get pulled forward to fall down the stairs. He looked rather startled by the entire thing.

I smiled up at you, then introduced you. "Dr. Harris, this is my husband and work partner, Special Agent Seeley Booth." A look of panic crossed his face as he squeaked out "Pleased to meet you," then barely made it though the handshake, while you were wearing your '_Heh. She said husband_' look, which I've got to say is really pretty goofy looking, and tends to undermine your projection of alpha-male prowess. Not that Dr. Harris would notice. You probably outweigh the poor man by at least one hundred pounds.

"Well, if you'll excuse us, Doctor, we've got to talk to some more of the donors." The poor man was stammering as we walked off.

"Thanks, Booth."

"Anytime. Who's next? Lime green leisure suit or vampire?"

"Let's get the vampire out of the way, and then the Beefeater costume, although he's really rather nice. The leisure suit is actually married to Cleopatra, so he'll be fine, and the four men dressed up as the Town People are actually two couples, so you can put the Tiger thing away for a bit. Although, if you want to go charm the gypsy for me, she doesn't really like me very much, and you'd probably do better than I would, especially if you lose everything on top but the undershirt and suspenders."

"Village People, Bones, not Town. And I can't believe you'd pimp me out like that to the donors. I'm shocked, truly shocked. What am I, just a piece of man meat? Jack did tell me who the Beefeater was, though maybe tonight's not the night to talk him up?"

"No, but it would be good to meet him, and he'll be at the Gala in a few weeks."

"Fair enough. Okay, vampire, Beefeater, gypsy."

"Thanks. But if she gets too pushy, you just let me know. I've got some tricks down my cleavage."

"God, woman, I love you. Are you going to let me take a look, later?"

I shot you a Roxie trademark grin, slapped your behind, and set off. "I might, Tiger, I just might."

- - -

I'd finished the rest of my schmoozing (I do like that word, Booth) and had returned to our team's little cluster on one side of the room.

"Bren, I can't believe you let him loose on Madame Ozmalda over there."

"He's doing better than I would. She hates me."

Cam sidled over, and handed me a glass of wine. "She's not the only one, Grace. That dress is quite the hit with the gentlemen."

I laughed. "You're not doing to bad yourself. Those jean cutoffs are garnering quite a lot of attention. Not to mention the pigtails."

Angela smiled, then came in to stand closer. "You know, I was listening to the boys from Botany gossip. Apparently word of our little show at the wedding has made the rounds, and they're all laying bets that it didn't actually happen."

"What are the odds?" I asked. "Do you think we could get Clark or Jack to place a bet for us?"

Cam snorted. "Let's wait until the donors are gone, and then I'm game. What were you thinking of as a warm up?"

"A little Aretha Franklin, I think."

"Done," said Angela. "I'll go run downstairs and get an mp3. Do you want to do the Patti LaBelle or the Divynls for the second one?"

- - -

"Hey, Bones, someone said Sweets is here, but I haven't seen him."

"Come here…" I dragged you over to the edge of the catwalk, overlooking the gardens. "See the princess hat with the chiffon and the bows and arrows lying on the ground?"

"Yeah—next to the big holly bush?"

"Well, he's dressed up like Robin Hood, and she's…"

"Maid Marian. Bones, our little boy's becoming a man."

- - -

"Hey, Booth, go stand in front of the punch bowl."

"Jack, is that stuff even legal?"

"Last I checked, you didn't work for ATF."

"Fair enough. Where do you want me to stand?"

- - -

"Does Cam know we all have a clear view of the Professor's little experiment with her as willing subject from up here?"

"Dude, shut up. She'll hear you. Ange's trying to get photographs, so she'll trade them for that damned DVD she keeps holding over our heads."

- - -

"Booth, the last donor's gone, come dance with me." Mmmm. Jello on stilts. You don't have to ask me twice. And, you were drinking Jack's punch. I could always hope that whatever lethal concoction he'd dreamed up would overcome your complete imperviousness to alcohol.

- - -

"Maybe you should put your shirt back on." You were running your hands up my sides, grinding to some Latin thing on the stereo.

"Why? I left my wifebeater on."

"Still. I don't like the way that intern from Meso-American is licking her lips. You're my piece of man meat, not hers." Uhhh. I do like it when you back up into me.

"Want some more punch when this one's over, Bones?"

"Sure, why the hell not?" Oh, yeah.

- - -

"We're all set. Clark put our money down."

- - -

"What are the three of them doing over there?"

"Uh, I heard some guys from Botany laying a bet about the wedding."

"Just stop them from doing anything until I lay my money down, alright?" It wasn't gambling if it was a truly sure thing.

- - -

I made it back just in time to lean up against the bar, Clark, good man that he is, handing me another beer. Angela had managed to pull a table over near the stereo, and found three cordless microphones someplace, and the three of you were nonchalantly sitting on its edge as the music changed.

"I don't recognize the tune," said Sully, as the opening notes started.

Clark shot him a dirty look. "This is one of Miss Aretha Franklin's greatest hits. Nice going, Professor."

"Hey!"

Jack, who'd joined us by this time, just held up a video camera, and said, "Rolling."

"Good man, brother, good man."

The three of you turned and got up on the table, and Cam's voice came out over the microphone. "Gentlemen, all bets are off." Heads turned, and the room became silent, several jaws dropping.

And then the three of you were off, you taking the lead, Cam and Ange posing on either side of you as you cocked one hand on your hip, then all three of you pointed at us as you started to sing. "_What you want, baby I got it/ What you need, you know I got it/ all I'm asking is for a little respect…_" Ange and Cam were doing the backup singing, but then each of you took turns singing the lead, you taking back over for the verse that went, "_Hooo your kisses sweeter than honey and guess what-- so is my money/ All I want you to do for me is give it to me when you get home . . ._ " and then the three of you doing the bump for the last two repeats of the chorus.

The looks on the faces of the people in the room were priceless. You Medico-Legal lab ladies? The hotness in the halls of the Jeffersonian. And then the tune changed, and you shot me an ESL (Evil Sexy Look) as I recognized the starting notes of the tune.

"Oh, fuck me," moaned Sully. "Not again."

"I gotta go find Amelia," Clark mumbled. "Think I saw her by the punch bowl."

I just shook my head. "If they do that kissing thing again, I just want it to be clear I cannot be responsible for my actions."

The three of you, Ange grinding her ass into your hips, and you doing the same to Cam, started to sing in unison, and ran your hands down each other's sides, stopping just short of each other's breasts.

"_I love myself/ I want you to love me/ When I'm feelin' down / I want you above me/ I search myself / I want you to find me / I forget myself /I want you to remind me."_

The three of you turned so Ange could grind her hips into your ass, and then the three of you took turns fondling one another's rear ends.

Sully was wheezing, and I wasn't much better. "At least we know who they're going home with," I mumbled, pretty sure my voice just went up an octave.

"They're gonna kill us."

"Yeah, but what a way to go," Jack groaned, as he kept filming.

And then you reached the final chorus, and all three of you called out like you were coming right then and there. God knows I practically did, and judging by the number of guys who suddenly found the need to stand behind various objects or suddenly find it necessary to hold a large bag of chips in front of the, so did most of the men in the room.

It was over, and the room was dead silent, before the three of you blew kisses at us, then hopped down off the table, the music resuming to some dance tune I didn't recognize.

"Jack… there any punch left?"

"Lots, my brother."

- - -

The party became increasingly debauched after that point, and the sheer number of groans I was hearing from the corners of the room and in the shadows downstairs was quite amusing. Jack had really outdone himself on the punch this year—even I was feeling a little tipsy.

"What's this dance called again?"

"The lambada, Bones."

"It's hot. I'm hot."

"Yes, Bones, you certainly are are."

- - -

"Seeley—let's go downstairs."

"You ready to go?"

"In a manner of speaking." Oh, I hope that means what I think it means.

- - -

It meant what I think it means. You turned around as soon as we walked in your office door, and pushed it shut.

"Hey, Tony, how you doin'?" Oh, fuck, Bones.

"I'm alright, Roxie, how you doin,'" I asked, grabbing your hips and pushing you back into the wall, as I reached over to lock the door.

"I've got an itch that needs scratching," you cooed, licking your lips and wrapping a leg around my hip and dragging one of those fuck-me heels up the back of my leg. Holy shit.

I swallowed, hoping my voice would stop sounding like a thirteen-year-old's. "Where's your itch, sweetheart, and where should I scratch it? The wall? The desk? The couch?"

You just wrapped a hand around my neck, and dug your nails in slightly as you pulled me forward, inches from my mouth, as you breathed, "Yeah, all of that, Tiger."

Okay, I'd just go in the order suggested. Up against the wall would have been the first option in Vegas anyway, and I can't tell you the number of times I'd zoned out while listening to you talk about paperwork, wondering if I could make you come hard enough to knock all the stuff on your desk onto the floor. Plus, your couch smells like you, which pretty much guaranteed that I'd get a monstrous hard-on if I took a nap on it while I was waiting for you to come in for the platform.

I pulled your leg up further, watching as your skirt rode all the way up your thigh, until…

"You're not wearing any panties."

Still in character, you pouted, then said "Nah. They just get wet. Very wet." Oh, my God.

I let go of the leg I hadn't already pulled up, and pulled down the strap of your dress.

"No bra, either."

"No, why, did I do something wrong, Tiger?"

I had the other strap down in an instant, and pulled the bodice down so your breasts sprang over the top of the fabric. Latching on to your breast with my mouth, I unzipped my pants as you slipped your hands under my undershirt, scratching and licking the side of my neck. I did manage to get my pants down before you pulled me in for a kiss on your red, red lips, while I boosted you up as you wrapped your legs around me, the backs of your shoes digging into my calves, your skirt riding up the rest of the way to your waist.

"Ah! Booth!" you yelled, as I surged into you, slamming you back into the wall. You were wet, soaking wet and so hot and tight, the sight of your breasts popping out of that dress undoing me, as one of your hands grasped the back of my head, your other digging your nails into my shoulder. As much fun as the Tony and Roxie thing was, though, I'd much rather hear you moaning my name, and not some dumb palooka alter ego.

"Jesus, Bones, you drive me insane," I groaned, as you arched into me, scratching your nails on my back as your head dropped back, your breasts crowning higher out of your dress, and I lowered my head back to suck at you until you screamed, contracting around me as I continued to push into you, my control totally gone as your heels dug into my ass.

You moaned as I pulled harder on your nipple, then sucked it between my teeth, biting down lightly, your hips bucking into me as your arms started to quiver, then screamed my name again as I sucked your breast hard, back into my mouth, the flesh yielding under my tongue. Your head was thrown back, and you were panting as I pulled your head forward so I could bite and suck at your neck. I increased my pace, until the shock of your hitting the wall every time I pounded into you made you moan "More," which was pretty much the end of me, as I let go at the same time "Jesus, ah! Bones!" that you convulsed, your nails clawing at me as your back arched and you screamed, then let your head fall forward onto my shoulder as I panted, the force of my orgasm so strong I was shaking. At some point, you'd lost your heels, and your bare feet were gripping the backs of my thighs. Before I could drop you, I shifted, you gripping me harder as I managed to get us over to the couch and collapse on top of you, your hair totally messy and your lipstick smudged.

"You're going to kill me," I panted.

"What a way to go," you moaned. "Wow."

You looked up and licked your lips, then pulled your arms up to shrug the straps of your dress off your shoulder, and pushing the fabric down further, so they were totally free of encumbrance. That was enough to make me hard again, your eyes widening and turning dark blue as you contracted in response.

"Still got that itch?" I asked, pulling out so I could get my knees under me, you shifting below me until you hooked one leg up onto the back of the couch, exposing yourself completely.

"I do," you moaned, palming your breasts and rubbing your nipples. Good lord. What a way to go, indeed, I thought, before you shifted your hips under me, then moved your hands from your breasts to grab my hips and pull me back into you.

"Well, then, let Seeley scratch it for you," I growled, pushing your leg on the back of the couch further so I could get better leverage.

Your cries as I came home to you again and again were bouncing off the glass walls of your office, but judging by the way sounds were echoing out in the lab, there were a lot of private parties going on behind locked doors tonight.

- - -

I lay, panting and wheezing beneath you, as we fell quiet, and I listened as other sounds of lovemaking echoed off the metal workspaces outside, muffled by office doors but still rather loud.

"Thank goodness for sound distortion," I rasped, "It's not possible to tell who's saying what in particular."

You laughed into the valley of my breasts, where you'd collapsed onto me. "You squints throw a good party."

"I wouldn't know—I've never stayed this late before."

You laughed again. "Glad you stayed this time?"

My verbal response was cut off by an aftershock that shuddered through me. "I guess you are," you continued, then pulled away from me, making me cry out in emptiness. You were kneeling on the couch, pulling off your shirt, then got off to stand and kick off your shoes and your pants. Pulling me up to a standing position, your hand at my back, you licked my shoulder as you said, "Now, I got this thing zipped up once before, let's see if I can get it off of you."

Somehow you managed it, because you were pulling it over my head, even as my knees buckled as your erection rubbed up against me as you tossed the dress away, one hand at my waist. "Now Bones," you said, "None of that, yet. You still owe me the desk." You picked me up and carried me over, pushing papers and files out of the way, then sat me down as my hands gripped the edge. You knelt, then, and pulled my hips forward, your mouth on me in an instant, stroking my folds with your tongue.

"Seeley! Jesus! Ahhhhh!!" I cried. I'd often thought about whether I could taunt you during one of our staring contests into crossing that line, and wrote a number of my fantasies about sex on top of a desk into my Kathy & Andys. But like everything else, you exceeded expectations, and I was dimly aware of things falling off my desk as I moved my hands behind me to brace myself, as your tongue lapped at me, delving into me to curl against my spot, your thumb working my clitoris as your mouth sucked at my folds. I couldn't control my thighs clamping around you, as a limb-numbing spasm shot through me and I screamed, you continuing to suck at me greedily until I came again and again, my elbows buckling behind me. The hand you'd been gripping my thigh with came up then to grab hold of my arm. You curled your tongue inside me once more, as I called out your name, and the next thing I knew, I was bent face down on my desk, my forearms braced under me, your hands on my hips as you sheathed yourself slowly into me. My hips slammed back into you of their own accord, my body given over to its own desires as you gripped me, one hand moving to my lower back to hold me in place as you withdrew and returned to me, filling me fully as my heat cramped around you, aching for further release.

"Seeley, oh, please," I begged, as you kept up your measured pace, and I continued to shudder from the ache building within me, the clenching of my walls painfully short of orgasm as you slowed your pace further.

"Tell me what you want, Temperance," you said, you voice low and raspy as you pulled into me again.

"I want you… faster, please, oh Seeley, faster," I moaned, as your hand on my back crept under me until your fingers were pulling my clitoris, too lightly to bring me release. My hips bucked up as you returned to me again, still torturing me with my need. A moan escaped my throat as your fingers twisted on me again, and I groaned out "Please, Seeley, please, I want to be full of you," then shrieked as your fingers pinched me, and you pulled out to slam back into me suddenly, surprising me with the sudden change of pace.

"You want it faster, Temperance?" you growled, pulling out again and returning as your hands returned to my hips, jerking me back to you as I called out "yes," and "Seeley" and "please" as you picked up the pace, my breath catching in my chest as I began to sob in my need for you to let me come, to feel you come, to be home again. Then, finally, as you filled me again to the hilt, my orgasm seized me, a painful wave of sensation giving way to a heated flush throughout my body, buoying me up as you continued to pull into me, groaning "Temperance" and "Oh, God" over and again until you finally yelled out "Bones!" and let go within me, your pulsing contractions sending another wave of heat through me that made me whimper with pleasure. You collapsed forward, your elbows on either side of me, as the sweat on your chest dripped onto my back, the two of us wheezing until our breathing gradually slowed, the heat of my climax yielding to the heat of your body above me. I shifted a bit, the backs of my thighs starting to cramp from how far forward I'd slipped, and you pushed yourself away from me to pull me up to standing, your arms around my waist as your heart still pounded in your chest.

"Wow," I mumbled. "That was better than anything I thought it might be."

You laughed. "Me too."

- - -

We walked out of your office just as Angela and Jack emerged from her office, Angela's hair as disheveled as yours, and a dazed expression on both their faces that I'm sure was a match at least for the stupid grin I was wearing. I hadn't bothered to put my undershirt back on, just pulled the overshirt on and left it open after I'd gotten back into my pants. You'd put the Roxie dress back on, and were carrying your shoes in one hand, as we walked out, and met them, Angela also barefoot and carrying the heels she'd been wearing.

We all leered at each other, but didn't say anything until we got outside, and I rasped out, "Good party."

"Yeah, man, good party," said Hodgins. "I think we'll be in late, though."

You shot Jack a smile, and said, "I think everyone will. I'm certainly planning on it."

Ange just laughed, then said "Bren, we won, I'll collect the payout tomorrow."

- - -

Back in the car, I asked "How much did you put down?"

"Five hundred dollars. How about you?"

"Only fifty." You laughed, then reached over to stroke me through my pants.

"Oh Tiger, sweetheart," you cooed, "Good thing I'm here to take care of you."

- - -

An hour later, as you straddled me at home in our bed, I managed to groan out "Who's taking care of who now, baby?" as I pulled you hard onto me.

"You, Seeley, you! Aaaahhh!"


	41. Chapter 41

41.

"There aren't any dandelions left." Oh, Booth, I know. It's the end of October, and dandelions don't last forever.

"There are some daisies over there." I pointed. Your face lit up and you jogged over to the bed, crouching down as your face took on a serious expression. You poked through the flowers, trying to find the best one.

"That's a good one," I said, when you came back. It really was. Symmetrical, lots of petals, no discoloration on the white petals. We went over and sat, me plucking petals into my lap while I waited for you to finish. When you sat back up again and put your rosary back in your pocket, I gathered all the petals into my hands, closed my eyes, and made my customary wish. As I blew as hard as I could, a light breeze came out of nowhere, and I opened my eyes to see the petals, floating away.

- - -

"Love you. Have a good day."

"See you tonight." Another kiss, of coffee, and cinnamon, and chocolate, and a mutual squaring of shoulders as we stepped out of my office and back into the world.

Midmorning, I was on the platform, working with Anne on another Hittite remains project Daniel had asked for my assistance with. Clark was working on a War of 1812 prisoner of war, for a paper on the effects of scurvy.

"Hey, Bones! Edison! Bones! We've got a case!"

Thank goodness- it had been so slow. Clark's face lit up, too. I know, it seems macabre, but really, it was the excitement of doing something current, and useful-- another chance to bring someone home. "How many?" I asked, as you climbed up the platform.

"Just one, the Reflecting Pool. The grounds crew found it this morning."

"We could practically walk there." I looked over at Clark. "Mind my company a few more times?"

He nodded, seemingly grateful. "Moron coming?"

You shook your head. "No, he and Rodgers are helping with a bleeder in Foggy Bottom." Clark nodded, shucking his lab coat as he headed back to his office.

"I'll bring the van over, meet you there."

You checked the time on your phone, then looked at me, frowning.

"I'll get him started, have Angela come pick me up for the afternoon."

"Thanks."

It was a messy dismemberment, with a lot of waterlogged flesh. Clark swallowed, hard, as I stepped in at the edge, then slipped my teflon-coated pitchfork under the first limb, then lifted it onto the tarps we'd spread. Clark watched as I explained the technique.

"Clark, what do you see?"

"Kerf marks, irregular, then a clean slice. Power tool of some sort, maybe a circular saw."

"Rate of decomp?"

"No scavenging, by color and saturation, two to three days?"

I nodded. I'd finished lifting the limbs, and slid my pitchfork under the torso. Heavy-- I leaned on the handle, but it wouldn't budge. I looked up and wiped my forehead on my sleeve, as I asked him, "Here, see if you can get some leverage on the torso."

He waded in, and took the handle from me, tried it gingerly. "Heavy."

"Yes, significant adipose on the legs seems to support a conclusion of morbid obesity. Booth? Can you bring the other pitchfork?"

You came over, standing as far away from the edge as you could without losing your grip on the handle. I'm sorry, but it's pretty funny how fussy you are about getting splashed. I slid the tines of my pitchfork opposite Clark's, slid my grip closer down the handle, and crouched, so I could lift with my legs. "Ready? On three."

We barely got it out and onto the tarp, but there didn't seem to be any tissue damage.

"Eeeeeuuuggh," was your only comment, as the smell wafted upward.

"Very scientific, Booth."

Clark was looking around. "Where's the head?"

I looked up-- the sun was directly overhead. I pulled a glove off and extended a hand up so you could pull me out. Looking back down at Clark, I said, "Sorry, got to go. You could get Anne and the tech team to help, but you're going to have to drain the pool anyway."

"Why?" you asked.

I pointed over to the torso. "The testicles and penis are missing. Good luck finding that without draining the pool."

You and Clark both swallowed, hard. "I don't know if they'll go for that," Clark offered.

I sighed. Time to pass on something I learned from my favorite anthropology professor, an essential skill needed when dealing with officials. "This, Clark, is called the Evil Death Glare." I showed it to him, and he shrank. Hah. Okay, no time for gloating. Vital forensic anthropology knowledge to pass on, here. "Now, you try."

He tried, but just looked constipated. "No. Think about some rural coroner cleaning the bones with bleach." He tried again. "Much better-- but the eyebrow is an essential element." I demonstrated once again. He got it that time. "Excellent. Have fun finding the gonads, boys," I called, heading off to the truck, Angela having already parked alongside.

"Eeeeuggh," I heard you repeat.

"You can say that again."

"Eeeeeuuggh."

- - -

I finished undressing and sanitizing in the back of the truck, and stuffed my things into a decontam bag, before getting into Angela's car.

"They look really grossed out," she said.

"The testicles and penis are missing."

"That'll do it. Wong Fu's Two for lunch?"

"Drive on, Yente, drive on."

- - -

We sat at the bar so we could talk to Sid. He gave me some panfried noodles with beef, tofu, and broccoli, along with a delicious lychee protein shake. "Thanks, Sid. We missed you. This is delicious, and if Booth asks, you can leave out the tofu part."

He just laughed, as he brought back Angela's fried chicken and biscuits with collards. "He's bossy, but he means well."

"I know," I sighed. "But if I never see red meat again after this is all over, I will be a happy, happy woman."

Angela was digging into her chicken, letting out occasional "mmppphhs" and "Oh my God"s as she ate.

"How's Jeanne?" I asked, as Sid came back from bringing out some other dishes to customers over in the window.

"Bossy, sassy, and sexy," he said. "French women are fun, but they don't express their opinions the same way an American would. And Jeanne, well, she's one of a kind."

"Do you miss it?"

He shook his head. "Not really. It was fun, but the fried chicken never went over that well and I didn't like putting celery root in the coleslaw. People don't question the food here. Although I do miss the _epoisses_."

"Well, we're glad you're back, and maybe I can find you a black market source for stinky cheese."

He smiled again, and nodded. "That'd be good. I'd like to add a charcuterie plate and a _salade Lyonnais, _but it's not the same without the real ingredients. Keep working on your shake, T."

I groaned. "Now who's bossy, Sidney?"

He grumbled. "I'll take that from you, but only because you referred me to Carol. Never would have gotten this place rebuilt without her."

"I'm glad. She's a good project manager. I'm hoping we can hire her to oversee some construction for us. Booth's upstairs neighbor is moving out, and we're going to buy his condo and convert the whole house into a one family. Then he can put all his ridiculous sports memorabilia back up in his office. Although he keeps talking about something called a Boy Cave?"

Sid laughed, and said "Man Cave, T., Man Cave."

"Don't you start, Sid, please. Let this be my refuge from pop culture and vernacular corrections, I beg you."

"Anything for the woman who gave me the recipe for such excellent pudding. I think we've just figured out how to produce a quadruple batch of it-- I'm thinking of calling it T.B.'s Colossal Chocolate Pudding. I like your name for it, too, but this is a family place at least before dinner."

"Sounds good to me." I cocked my head to the side. "You know, I was thinking of trying a caramel-toffee pot de creme this weekend. What do you think about the cream base being mixed with dark rum before adding the caramel?"

"I think your boy will fall over with happiness. If you give me the recipe once you work it out, I'll give you half the profit for the charity of your choice. Same thing on the chocolate."

"Done." We shook hands, and I returned to my noodles.

"Mmmmph. Sidney. So good."

- - -

Angela waited while I met with Delia, and she drew some blood for more testing.

"You've put almost all your weight back on, just five more pounds to go. I'm glad to see it. You look good-- your color's better, too. How did those pills work?"

"Good. The dizziness and most of the fatigue are gone, no nausea, and food tastes normal again, though I'm looking forward to not consuming as much. I was wondering-- has enough time passed since the surgery for me to go back to the gym? I don't like the fact that I've lost so much muscle mass."

She thought, and we discussed changing the cocktail next week if the symptoms resumed despite the new medication, then shifted to a discussion of my regular workout routine. "I would say you can go back to your katas, but no sparring for another few weeks, no falls or somersault type things. Kickboxing's fine, same thing with yoga, though perhaps you should avoid positions requiring lowering your head below your waist. I'd especially recommend resuming the yoga, though, the release of stress-related hormones would be beneficial, as would the meditation and deep breathing aspect of things." She paused. "Are you still blowing on dandelions?"

I shook my head. "I switched to daisy petals, the dandelions are all gone, but there should be some daisies and mums left at least through Thanksgiving, at which point we'll be done with this round, anyway."

"How are you feeling, emotionally?"

"Alright, I suppose. It catches up with me every once in a while, but I'm trying to just focus on work and other everyday things. I sent David Keogh an email, I suppose I should talk to him just to commiserate."

"That's a good idea. You know, there's a group here at the hospital, though perhaps you might not like it."

"I'd wondered, but I think I'll stick to talking to David for the time being. My publisher keeps getting inquiries from the press wanting to talk to me about my brave struggle with serious illness, and I'd rather not provide more sources for public speculation. It's been pretty quiet so far, though."

"How's Seeley doing?"

"He's alright. We've been sort of keeping a diary of all of this, together, and I think it helps us both. It's sometimes hard to talk about it out loud, but writing it down when you have time to think about it alone is useful, and we read what the other's written. We do talk about it out loud, too, but the diary part takes some of the pressure off."

"That's actually a very good idea. Do you mind if I suggest it to some of my other patients?"

"Whatever helps."

She finished her examination. "You're tolerating this well, so far, though I wish your arms and wrists didn't bruise so easily. I'd like to avoid clavicular or groin insertions, they're so much more uncomfortable. I think your blood vessels are holding up well, though, so we don't need to worry about implanting a permanent port for now, though it's something that may come up in the future."

"I know." I sighed. "So far, so good, though."

"That's right. Off with you, now. I'll come by when you're done."

- - -

Angela had brought a laptop with her and was working on the preliminary file setup work for the new set of remains, prefatory to the location of the skull and her facial reconstruction work. I graded papers, caught up on some reading, and then borrowed her laptop when she was done to email with Caroline about the upcoming trial, to confirm my schedule for testimony and where she wanted to start, as well as the order in which the rest of the team should appear. When we got home, I got out some ice cream and we talked about the renovation project. Her phone rang around six-thirty, and she got up to answer it.

"Really? You're kidding. Signed? Sealed? Oh, my God! I don't believe it! Oh, did you call Jack? He's probably still at work and not picking up his phone. Thank you, thank you so much!" She hung up, then came over to pull me up and jump up and down as she hugged me. "He signed! He signed! Bren, the bouquet worked! He signed the papers! Jack and I can get married now! Oh, Bren!"

How strange. But I was glad that it worked, whatever it was. "Oh, Ange, I'm so happy for you. That's wonderful news. You should try calling Jack at the lab right now. Have him paged if he doesn't pick up. Seriously."

She jumped up and down again and picked up the phone. "I'll call his station." She dialed, then waited. "Hodgie! Did you check your cell phone messages? He signed! I can't believe it!!" She paused, then got a wicked smile on her face. "Of course, I'll be home as soon as Booth gets back. Mmm-hmmm. I love you too, baby."

"Ange, that's so exciting. Have you two talked at all about re-doing the wedding?"

"No-- we didn't want to jinx it. But now, we can! Oh, now you have to go dress shopping with me!"

You came in as Angela was still jumping up and down, and she grabbed you to plant a big kiss on your lips, you looking rather amusingly shocked as she let you go. "Booth! Grayson signed the papers! I can get married now!"

You picked her up and twirled her around. "Angela, that's wonderful!" Setting her down, you shot her a leer. "Does this mean we get a repeat performance of the Medico-Legal Lab's Luscious Ladies All-Star Singing Trio at your wedding?" She smacked you, then planted a kiss on your cheek again.

"You're so naughty, but I knew that already. It's one of the reasons I love you so much. Got to go, sweeties, Hodgins and I are going to celebrate."

I got up to give her another hug, then saw her out. "See you tomorrow Ange, thanks again."

Closing the door, I grinned. "I get to go dress shopping again. Hopefully I'll get the bow right this time."

- - -

"Mmmph, Bones. Awesome roast chicken. And glazed carrots. I hate carrots, but these are good."

"Thanks. How did the rest of recovery go after I left?"

"Eew, Bones, not during dinner."

- - -

"Still here," I murmured later, as you stroked my hair while I lay on your chest. "Still here," you repeated.

- - -

Okay, look, we have a king-sized bed. I have no idea why you have to sleep almost directly on top of me, and how you manage to pull both alarms out of the wall at the same time. I mean, the bed's what, over six feet wide? This is ridiculous. And you're snoring like a warthog. Work on that.

- - -

After returning from my daisy plucking, a light breeze again appearing at the serendipitous moment, we walked in to my office to see "Three."

"When was that? At the hospital?"

"Mmm-hmm-- when Parker crawled in to take a nap with us."

"We should put it in his room."

It was same two figures as "One" and "Two," set inside a swirling, muddy background, with streaks of dim, reddish light underlying the green-greyish overground, a small, third figure between the two. The smallest figure was similar to the largest, but was curled into the smaller figure of the original two, and bathed in the light between the two surrounding him. The air around the three figures was of quiet and waiting, a pause in the midst of the surrounding ambiguous tumult.

"Amazing, again."

We went to find Angela, in her office, and pulled her into a hug between the two of us. "Thank you, friend," I murmured. We all sniffled, until she laughed, and smacked both of us, still sniffling herself.

"We're all saps. I love you guys. Now let's get to work."

- - -

Clark wasn't in yet-- I think he had one last client meeting this morning-- as I ascended the platform, you behind me at my shoulder as I put on my mask and my gloves. Joining Cam at the table, I reviewed the positioning of the cuts on the limbs, the head, which looked to have been separated at the C4 vertebrae with the same instrument used to dismember the corpse. There was a bullet wound in the back of the man's skull.

"Execution style."

Cam nodded. "Looks like a nine millimeter, police issue. Hard to tell from the decomp and the waterlogging if it was point blank."

"Well, we can tell once we remove the tissue. Did Anne get photographs and xrays?"

"Mmm-hmm. Okay for me to take tissue samples?"

"Help yourself, you can have both the hands for prints if you want. Shall I hold off on tissue removal until you've taken a first pass?"

"No, thanks, I've got enough here. He's really pretty intact, considering." I watched as she detached the hands with a saw, then took adipose samples and tissue from each of the separated limbs.

"He looks like a mobster," you commented. "Fat, no muscle tone, rings on all those fingers."

"I don't understand why all the jewelry is intact. You would think the killer would take those, if not to sell, then perhaps at least to prevent quick identification. And where are the gonads? Lividity and bruising suggests removal antemortem, with a different instrument than that used for post-mortem dismemberment."

You shook your head, wincing and turning somewhat green. "We drained that whole thing, had the tech team raking through the mud on the bottom-- couldn't find them. The groundskeeper was pissed_, _but Clark EDG'd him and he settled down."

"Did you search the surrounding shrubbery?"

"The whole Mall. They were out there until 10 o'clock last night."

Clark came up the platform, then, pulling on his lab coat. "T., Booth. What did I miss?"

"Nothing much. Nine millimeter to the back of the head, we'll know more about the bullet and microfracturing once we remove the tissue. You caught the antemortem removal of the gonads?"

He winced, and turned green. "To be honest, I didn't really look."

"Well, here, take a look at the dissemination of bruising, and the firmness of the tissue surrounding the area." I demonstrated, but Clark still hung back. "Clark."

He shook his head, pulled on gloves, came over to the other side of the table. I took his index and middle fingers, pressed them into the discolored flesh, then moved it to the area immediately beyond the bruising. "It's firmer with antemortem removal, because the heart is still pumping blood to the area, causing the bruising to spread. If it was postmortem, the area would be smaller, and the difference in subcutaneous firmness would be less pronounced."

"Eeeeugh," was his only reply. Alright, this was annoying.

"Stop being a sissy, Clark. This isn't the first time I've seen this, and it won't be the last for you either. You're very good, but you're going to have to grow a pair when it comes to this. I understand there's a natural sympathetic response, but you're just going to have to work past it, and view the injuries as any other-- you wouldn't want to miss anything."

"Geez, Bones, don't be so hard on the kid."

I turned and shot you a look. "You're no better, Mr.-I-don't-want-to-talk-about-this-during-dinner. This is potentially relevant evidence bearing on the killer's motive, and the victim's identity. Get over it. I didn't get all sissy when we had that prostitute whose breasts and genitalia had been mutilated."

"Sorry, Bones."

"Sorry, T."

"Okay-- Clark, will you take Anne through the process of tissue removal? Given the sodden condition of the tissue, I think boiling would be faster than beetles. What do you think?"

"I agree. I'll go find her, and we'll get started."

"Thank you." I turned. "Jack, anything of note on the sediment?"

He looked up. "Not so far, just adipose from the remains. The samples all seem to be consistent with one another, no trace of other sources of soil or debris."

"Did you get a chance to look at the kerf marks on the bones yet?"

"No, that's next. I agree it seems to be some sort of circular saw, there are circular striations on the first millimeter under the surface."

"Okay, thanks. I'll be in my office."

You followed me down off the platform. "I'll go get the jewelry from Cam, see if there's anything interesting, go see Ange about dentals, call Rodgers."

"Okay. You want lunch?"

"Can't, sorry, we're taking Charlie out before he moves over to RICO."

"Okay-- well, give me a kiss, and I'll see you later, husband." You really do look goofy when you smile like that.

- - -

Nothing new developed before my father came by. "Hi, sweetheart," he said, then stopped to stare at "Three."

"You're a good parent to Parker," was his only comment.

I shook my head. "I don't know about whether I'm a parent, but a reliable adult authority figure-- I try. He's a good boy."

"No, honey-- he sees you as a parent. And you're good at it. Trust me on this one."

- - -

My father telling me about Maureen as I worked on the pot de creme recipe I'd been discussing with Sid. "She's a nice lady, not looking for anything serious, and honestly, I'm too old for that. But it's nice to have someone to do things with besides your brother."

"I'm sorry, Dad, I haven't spent as much time with you since you got out of prison."

He laughed. "Honey, I'm out of prison because of you. I hardly think I have a basis to complain."

"Still."

"Pumpkin, listen to me. You're a grown woman, with your own life, and a new family and more than enough on your plate to deal with. And I _have_ gotten to see a lot of you in the past two months, even if the impetus for it all is beyond your control. I'm not jealous of Booth, or Parker, or anyone else. You've built a good life for yourself, even before I reappeared to throw things into disarray, and I'm happy for you. And Parker sure is a cute kid. It's nice to be called Grandpa."

I know he didn't mean it that way, but I was feeling a little on edge about the Grandpa thing. Caroline and Richard had been comparatively discreet about hinting for grandchildren, but their repeated compliments to me on how Parker and I got along felt like pressure. The unspoken undercurrent was that I would make a good mother, and should have children of my own. The simple fact was, though, that I just didn't know how I felt about it any more. I'd entertained the idea of foster children, later in life, perhaps as I was winding down my forensic work and shifting to more research and novel-writing. The biological changes involved in pregnancy didn't bother me, per se, but I simply had never planned on having children of my own, and I was finding keeping up with Parker enough of a challenge without thinking about other possibilities. And such speculation was in many ways useless, at this point, since if I made it through my treatments, the chemotherapy could well affect my reproductive capabilities. Infertility was not an uncommon side effect. Which left foster children, which we haven't talked about, and which are a big responsibility, in some ways more so than biological children.

"Pumpkin?"

"Oh, sorry. Lost in thought there for a moment." A subject change was in order. "Here, taste this base for me?" I offered him a spoon of the caramel rum cream I'd made as the base. "Enough salt? Butter? How's the balance of sugar and rum?"

He took the spoon, and tasted, then closed his eyes. "Mmmmm. Don't change a thing. Really. That's excellent."

"Good, thanks, Dad. Want to hand me that bowl with the ice water in it and the eggs in the bowl?" I'd already cracked and beaten the raw eggs, and set them in a bowl into which I could temper the eggs with a small amount of the hot base, before stirring the rest in and leaving it to set.

He asked me why I was doing what I was, so I explained to him about the chemical interactions between the ingredients and the effects of heat and cold on the custard's ability to set, as I stirred the ingredients, then put in the chopped toffee bits I'd prepared earlier, once the mixture had cooled. "You never used to be interested in cooking," he said.

"I know, but it's something creative, that involves something other than just thinking. Reassembling skeletons, solving the cases, that's mostly in my head. The cooking is more sensory, and the motions of preparing and cooking the food are physically meditative. And the standing straight up, rather than hunching over the exam table, is always a nice break." He laughed, and changed the subject to his class, and their reception of the Auden I'd suggested he try, as I put the mixture in the refrigerator to set.

You came in then, and my father got up to leave after exchanging your usual greetings, though he now called you "Son," instead of "Boy."

"See you next week, honey," he said, then dropped a kiss on my cheek as I saw him to the door.

"Something smells good, June."

"A new pudding, well, pot de creme recipe. And no, you can't have any. It's still setting."

"Bones..." You were giving me the puppy dog eyes. As cute as they were, still, no. You start sticking your finger in there, and the oils of your skin will mess up the setting process.

"No. Let's go out to Anamaria's, maybe it will be set when we get home, and you can be my guinea hog."

"Guinea pig, Bones, pig."

- - -

Anne was laying out the cleaned remains the next morning when we emerged from my office. You'd gone off to see Cam, where she presumably confirmed that she did not yet have prints or DNA results. When I reached the platform, I put on my gloves and my mask, then went over to look at the skeleton. I was curious about that bullet hole, interested to see the distance from which the shot was fired.

I picked up the skull—there was fracturing, consistent with point-blank firing. There was something about the hole, though, that bothered me. I brought it over to the magnifier, then pulled up a file on the computer.

"Seeley! Seeley!" I yelled, as the results came up on the screen, the grooves in the photo matching the grooves around the hole on this skull.

You came out, looking puzzled.

"I need you to look at this. Now."

You swiped your card, came over.

"Look at the entry wound. What do you see?"

"Grooves. You can do that thing with the bullet reconstruction, though. You'll have it in an hour."

I looked at you, drew a breath. "I don't need to. I've already done it. Three years ago." I pointed at the screen, and your face tightened as you saw the case index number. I nodded. By this time, the rest of the team had emerged from their offices, and were gathering, curious. You pulled out your phone.

"Sam. I need you to call Evidence. Now. Shut it down, all of it, get every single one of them in." You listened. "Because Jamie Kenton's weapon is missing-- Bones just matched the ballistics pattern to the gunshot on that body we pulled out on Tuesday. Get someone to pull me all the files he worked-- I bet you one of them will match our new vic." Closing your phone, you looked again at the screen, shook your head. "Fuck, Bones."

"Who's Jamie Kenton?" asked Cam. Jack, standing beside her, had paled.

"Oh, just a crooked agent on the take from the mob, who tried to blow me up, tried to shoot Bones, and then when that didn't work, tried to kill her and feed her to rabid dogs after cutting her to pieces to mimic a serial killer so he wouldn't get caught."

"I don't get it. Why would someone steal that particular gun, of all the guns in Evidence?" I didn't understand. It seemed like too much of a coincidence. Your phone rang, then, and checking the number, you flipped it open.

"What do you have?" Your face turned utterly grim, and then I knew. It wasn't a coincidence.

I didn't need you to say it-- I knew perfectly well. "Kenton escaped."

You nodded again.

"When?"

"Four days ago."

"He got right back to work then, the industrious son of a bitch. Booth-- go-- I'll get someone else to go with me."

You shook your head. "Not unless you have your weapon with you."

My turn to shake my head. Better to finish this discussion in private. I dropped my gloves and mask into the trash, and sanitized as I walked off the platform to my office, your hand on my back immediately.

"Shut the door," I said, sitting down on the couch as you started to pace. "Is it a warning? You'd think if he had the chance to get into the Hoover, he'd have come after us already."

"I know. It doesn't make sense-- but I don't want you going anywhere without at least your own weapon."

"Call Sully. He shouldn't work this one anyway, not directly. The fewer, the better."

Your face cleared a little, as you flipped open your phone and dialed. "Peanut. Yeah, word travels fast. Look, I've got to come in and give Evidence a beatdown with Sam. Would you... Thanks, man." You hung up and came to stand in front of me, looking as angry and scared as I felt. I pulled your hand over, held on to it.

"Booth. We got him the last time, we'll get him again. Sully's a good shot, and I'll make sure to carry until it's over again."

Your eyes darkened. "But Bones—I'm your gun. He's not as good a shot as me." Oh, Seeley, I know.

I squeezed your hand. "No, he's not. And I'm a better shot than he is, too. But I have to go, and two targets are better than one. You have to get over there-- the sooner you start, the sooner it ends."

You pulled me up into an almost crushing embrace, so I took your chin in my hand, and pulled you down for as fierce a kiss as I could muster. "Go."

You nodded, opened the door, and strode out, looking back only once. Sighing, I settled my coat again, then headed back out to the platform, but before I got there, I heard your steps, jogging. Turning, I met you halfway between the door and the platform, your expression deadly serious. I stopped right in front of you, taking in your inscrutable expression.

"Here," you said, then pulled your jacket aside to hand me the extra 9 mm. Glock and holster you kept in the truck. I unbuttoned my lab coat, settled the holster at my belt, and sheathed the weapon, rebuttoning only the top two buttons of my coat so I could reach my belt easily.

"Sixteen or eighteen in the clip?"

"Sixteen."

Nodding, I pulled you down for another kiss, which you returned, ferociously. Letting go, I looked up at you, and replied. "I love you too." You nodded, and turned, and were gone.

I straightened my shoulders, as best as I could, then turned back to see the whole team still gathered on the platform, staring.

Doing my best impression of you, I clapped my hands and strode forward. "Okay, people, what have we got? Jack, have you got a source on those kerf marks, and Clark, any calculations on spacing of teeth on the blade? Ange, any hits in the missing persons reports? Cam-- how's that DNA analysis going?" To a man and woman, they started, then scattered, getting back to work.

Sometimes, it's the only thing you can do.


	42. Chapter 42

42.

An hour later, I was standing with Jack at his station, looking at some nearly sub-microscopic particulates in the kerf marks.

"T.B.!"

I turned, and saw Sid, bearing three large shopping bags which smelled wonderful, even from ten feet away. Clark intercepted him to take a bag as Sid reached the foot of the platform.

"Sid, hi. What, he doesn't want the team leaving the lab until Surveillance gets organized?"

"Yes."

"T., how'd you know that?" Clark looked puzzled, but Sid just shook his head.

"Kid, I know what people want to eat, Seeley and T.B. here have their freaky mind reading thing going on. It's just their thing."

I nodded. "Well, go set things down, I appreciate it. We'll come sit in a moment." He smiled, and headed to my office.

Cam interrupted. "Wouldn't the lounge upstairs be better?"

Sid and I turned, looked at her, and answered at the same time. "Too many windows facing unsecured buildings."

Jack's head jerked around. "Sid—what was it you said about how you and Booth met?"

"I didn't. Nice try, though."

Everyone trailed into my office as Sid started pulling items out of bags. "Jack, cheeseburger club, onion rings, mint chocolate chip milkshake. Clark, choucroute garni and a weissbier, Anne, curried chicken salad in a lettuce wrap and a Kingfisher. Angela, crispy pad thai, extra shrimp, Tsing Tsao. Camille, spicy tuna rolls, seaweed salad, green tea. T.B., extra spicy ma po tofu on brown rice, side of sesame broccoli, mango protein lassi."

"Who's the last bag for?" asked Jack.

"Sully," I said, as the man himself walked through the door.

Sid turned, and said, "Shepherd's pie, cherry turnover, tall black coffee?"

Sully, expression grim, nodded, and set down a box of files. "Thanks, Sid."

Sid straightened up then, and came over to lay a kiss on my cheek. "Shoot 'em up, T., if you've got to."

"I never contradict a Sidney." He smiled, and waved as he headed out the door.

Everyone was standing around, looking lost, except for Sully, who still looked grim, and was giving me what I think was a '_Surveillance will be here in an hour_' look.

"Okay, people. Your lunches are getting cold and Sid will kill you if you waste his food—go, back to your offices, eat. A squint with low blood sugar is a useless squint."

They scattered, except for Cam, who came over to put her hand on Sully's arm. He patted it, then said, "I'll come over as soon as Tempe and I talk." She nodded, and left. I sat down in the chair nearest where Sid left my food on the table, and looked up.

"Sit, we might as well eat while we talk." He did, and I took a bite of my lunch (so good, even under the circumstances) before asking. "How bad is it?"

"Bad. Everything on the case, not just the weapon, is gone. You know they never rounded up the uncle and his two sons who he worked most often for?"

"I did. They thought someone tipped them, but they don't know how it could have been Kenton."

"Right. Well, they just disappeared, and no one's seen or heard from them since. It's been quiet, but the Fratellis, a smaller branch of the Cuggini operation, have recently gotten more active, including buying the cement plant and building equipment of the Romanos, at an auction that was held about two months ago. Organized has their ears to the ground, but word is that Vinny Fratelli, one of the bigger brothers, and the one who fronted the money at the equipment sale, didn't show up for his usual bocce tournament Monday at lunch."

I looked over at the box, which he'd set on the floor near me. "Is there a picture?"

He nodded. "First file folder. You'll recognize the jewelry, Booth said."

I took out the folder, opened it. "Jewelry, and distinctive adipose folds at the wrists. That's him. But what's Kenton's connection? He sold out the whole family, unless there's some way to connect him differently to the brother and uncle. And how could he have gotten word to them, anyway? He talked before they even got him out of there."

Sully shook his head. "We don't know. But there's got to be someone else on the inside, someone with regular access to Evidence, to have gotten everything out."

Suddenly, I had a thought. "Who was at Kenton's arrest? There had to have been thirty agents there. Is there any overlap with whomever's been working in Evidence in the last few months?"

"Good idea. Let me call." He flipped open his phone. "Sam. Yeah. Listen, Tempe asked a good question. Which agents were at Kenton's arrest, Tac Team, Communications, everything? Is there any overlap with Evidence? And are they all in yet? Okay. Thanks."

"He's going to have Rodgers pull lists. Not everyone from Evidence has come in, yet."

I sighed. "Alright. Enough talking for now. Finish your Shepherd's pie so you can shepherd me, sweet little lamb that I am, to my chemotherapeutic slaughter."

His head snapped up. Oh. A little too grim, there, I guess. Must be the holster digging into my hip. "Tempe…"

"Sorry. Feeling rather dark today. Forget I said anything." I resumed eating, making sure to finish my tofu and broccoli. "Look, I'll call Delia about maybe getting an inside room, you go finish your lunch with Cam. Surveillance will call when they get here? Here, bring the photo to Angela to confirm."

"Thanks."

He picked up his plate and cup and walked out. Picking up my shake, I walked over and dialed.

"Hi, Temperance Brennan for Delia Thornton, please. Hello, Delia? Look, something's come up at work and I'm hoping if you don't need it, if I could use your office today while I work privately on something with one of the other agents Booth and I work with? I appreciate it. Thanks. Yes, I should be there on time."

I hung up, returned to the chair, and started digging through the box. The uncle, his two sons. Here. The files were thick. Not a good sign. Ok. In 1976, Carmine Romano, the uncle…

- - -

"They're here. We can go." He stuck his head back in the door just as I finished putting the files and my computer into my bag.

"Be right with you." I took off my lab coat, Sully's eyebrows rising as he took in the weapon, before I pulled my jacket and coat off the hanger and put them on. Settling my jacket to make sure it didn't catch on the holster, I picked up my bag, and he reached forward to take it.

"I can carry it, Sully."

"I know. But you're a better shot. Less things to drop, just in case."

"Thanks. Firing range master been whining about how I beat him again?"

"Pretty much."

"He needs to keep his mouth shut. Now whoever's on the inside knows it, too."

- - -

I looked in the rearview as we were pulling into the medical center's parking lot. "Isn't that Mel?"

Sully looked up, "What, two cars back in the Honda? Yeah."

"He's the head of Surveillance. Why isn't he having someone else trail us? He's got other things to do than follow me around to doctor's appointments."

"Well, let him make that call, alright?"

- - -

We cleared the lot and the inside doorway and headed up to the suite, Sully trying not to be too obvious about clearing the corners and elevators we had to pass on our way there. Once we made it in, I greeted Annie, the receptionist.

"Hi, Annie. Did Delia call you about my using her office today?"

"She did, Dr. Brennan." She looked curiously at Sully, who was standing sideways to me, watching the room.

"Annie, this is Agent Sullivan. He and I are going to be working on something this afternoon, so if you could please do me a favor? Unless Seeley himself comes by, please don't let anyone except the nurses or Delia come down to interrupt us. In fact, if you could call down to the room in case anyone's asking for me—we just have something that needs to get done before the end of the day."

She smiled, poor oblivious thing. "Not a problem, Dr. Brennan. Dr. Thornton said to give you whatever you need. If you want to go back, Celia will be down in five minutes to set you up."

"Thank you."

We passed the desk, me taking the wall and Sully the center of the corridor as we passed the semi-private curtained areas where I usually sat. "It's just down at the end of the hall, right around the corner," I murmured, pausing to let him turn the corner and enter the office first.

"All set."

I divested myself of coat and jacket as he set the bag down, then took off the blouse I wore over the camisole I always wore to therapy. It was easier to wear layers than change into a johnny, and I had more freedom of movement to write or read, depending on which arm the needles were in. I pulled out the armchair so that it was behind the door, instead of in front of it, and dragged my bag over to plug in my laptop.

As soon as I'd settled, shifting the holster and weapon to the small of my back, Celia, one of the regular nurses, bustled in. "Hello, doctor dearie! How are you today?"

"I'm fine, Celia, thank you. How are you? It's been what, a whole twenty-four hours?" She laughed, and I watched as she set up the bags, prepared the IV and checked the chart against the monitor and the computer program that administered the drip. She reached for my right arm, because she'd used the left one yesterday and it was still bruised, but I stopped her.

"Celia? Could we do the left wrist today? I need to do a fair bit of writing and document review today with Agent Sullivan, and if we do the right arm, it'll interfere with my getting work done."

She smiled. "Oh! Of course! Annie said you were going to be doing some work, I'll just get you set up so you can get on with it." She swabbed the top of my hand, found the veins, and inserted the needles, taping them down, before most nurses would have even finished prepping the spot.

"A pro as always, Celia. Didn't feel a thing."

"Flattery will get you extra butterscotch pudding at the end." She smiled, checked the monitor again, and then left, closing the door behind her. Sully immediately got up and opened it a crack, then sat back down.

"A needle stick or two won't impair the dominant hand, you know."

"I know. But the medication's very strong, and I often experience some burning and numbness in the arm being used for a few hours afterward. I just don't practice enough to use my left hand under pressure."

He nodded, grimly, and pulled up a file. "Okay. Carmine, age 72. Rocco, aged 40. Anthony, 36. Who do you want first?"

"I read Carmine's. Give me Rocco, you can take Anthony."

- - -

We read, exchanging relevant tidbits as we went. "Rocco's MO is usually a bat, not a gun."

"Same with Anthony—blackjack, or stiletto."

His phone rang, then, and he looked down at the number. "Booth. No, no troubles. Yes, Mel's out in the lot with Evan. Mmm-hmm. Are you serious? Damnit! Sure, here." He held out the phone.

"Seeley."

"Temperance, listen. Santana's not in yet. He called in sick Monday, same day Kenton dropped off the radar, and hasn't been in since."

"Was he at the original arrest site?"

"Yes. You were right—he was doing communications, and was alone in the van. He would have had all the time in the world to make the call, and the satellite records don't track outgoing calls, just what's being monitored, so there's no way of telling who he might have called."

"Well, at least he was in on it before Clifford. No wonder he was slow on that one—those contractors were mobbed up the wahoo."

Sully murmured "Wazoo, Tempe, Wazoo."

"Well, I'll let you go, Booth."

"Call me after you leave, and when you get in. I'll probably be late."

"I love you, too." I handed Sully back his phone, with thanks, and resumed reading, the two of us again noting particulars potentially relevant to intra-familial squabbles that might link Kenton more closely to them than the others. And then I found it, when I re-reviewed Carmine's file.

"Sully—here. Look—someone took a shot at Carlo, no shells ever recovered, right as they were refinancing Tapford Construction."

"That's it. Temp, you're going to put all of us out of a job."

"Just picking up Booth's gut, I guess."

"Well, he was spouting something about teeth reconstruction and polymer fill and some thing you and Jack had come up with. I couldn't follow half of what he was saying, he kept saying something about monomer reactions."

"Four years will do that to you."

I handed back the file, and sat back for a bit. The burning in my arm had started, as it usually did, about an hour and a half in. Sully kept flipping through the file, looking up at me occasionally.

"You okay?"

"Mmm-hmm. It just burns a lot from about now until the next half hour. It'll settle down. I usually just try to recite all the bones in the body right about now."

"Is that unusual?"

"Not for this particular drug combination. For others, yes, but not this."

He paused. "Booth is pretty close-mouthed on the details."

I nodded. "We keep getting press inquiries. Everyone thinks it's their business. The less we talk about it in public, the fewer people there are to overhear. Unfortunately, I've become enough of a celebrity with the books that the magazines have begun to get pushy. I suppose I should be grateful there aren't more photographers trailing me around."

He shook his head. "Not fun. When do you find out more?"

"Well, preliminary results from the blood culture should be in next week—it's been too soon to test, before now. But I'll be done at the end of the month, and they'll do further biopsies then. The concern is more about metastization from the nodes than the nodes themselves, as the MRIs show they are gradually shrinking. We'll see. They're hoping the removal of the original mass, which grew fairly aggressively, will arrest further metasteses, since the lymph nodes have been malignant for less time. We'll see. It's pretty advanced."

"I'm amazed you're even still working."

"Why? This is what I do. I've never been one for leisure—I'm not going to change now. So much else has changed, but work is a constant."

"Booth, too."

I looked up—I'd had my eyes closed, until then. "I hope you know he actually told me I should go. He never expressed any opinion to the contrary."

"I didn't. I suppose I expected he'd just have refused to say something one way or the other. I couldn't have done that."

"You never know." This was getting heavier than I wanted, so I changed the subject to our last time at O'Reilly's.

"How old is Billy?"

"He just turned 70. Keeps talking about retiring, but he and Rita never had any kids, and he doesn't feel like he can just shut the place down. He wants to pass it on to someone who'll keep it the same, but he hasn't found anyone yet."

"It'd be a shame if it closed."

"Mmm-hmm. Lots of fun times there."

I fell silent again, went back to counting skull bones with my eyes closed. I was starting to feel a little dizzy, and wasn't happy about it. Delia's pills had apparently only been a short term fix.

"Tempe?"

I cracked an eye. "What?"

"You look kind of green."

"I am. So much for the new pills."

"You going to be able to walk out of here?"

"Should be. I have been before."

"Well, maybe I'll call Mel to come in closer, just in case."

- - -

I finished my pudding, my tomato juice, and crackers the last fifteen minutes. "That's an odd selection of food," Sully offered.

"Enough fat, sugar and salt to absorb quickly, enough food in your stomach to give you something to throw up. It happens, sometimes. Only once, so far, with me."

Celia bustled in, then, and unhooked me and cleaned and bandaged the insertion site. "How's the dizziness, doctor dear?"

I patted her hand. "Tolerable, thank you. I'll be fine, Agent Sullivan will help me with my coat. Thanks again, and see you next week."

"You be good now, and be sure to tell that husband of yours I missed him today."

"He'll be glad to hear it. He always enjoys the extra pudding."

Sully laughed. "Some things never change."

- - -

In the end, I was glad for the dizziness, because if I hadn't stumbled a bit on the sidewalk, while still inside the canopy covering the entrance, I never would have seen it out of the corner of my eye. I allowed myself to fall hard on my hip to the pavement, so Sully would stop.

"Tempe? Are you alright?"

"I'm okay, bend down to check me" I whispered.

He squatted, pretending to do so. "The sugar maple, at two o'clock, not far from the car? I thought I saw something on the right hand lowest limb. Some rustling."

His face tightened. His back was to the tree, so he couldn't see it for himself. "Get behind me, to haul me up by the arms. He won't have a clear shot until we clear the canopy. I'll limp or something, to distract him. Does Santana have good rifle skills? How about Kenton?"

"They're only average. They'll probably wait until we're close."

"Alright. Let me be annoyed and refuse your arm, then we'll stop in another ten feet so you can get a clearer look. Santana thinks I'm a bitch. Yell at me for being stubborn right now." He grimaced, then said, "Here we go, then."

He stood up and came behind me. "Goddamnit, Tempe, let me help you up, for Christ's sake. Booth will have my balls if you don't let me help you back to the car."

He hauled me up, and I swatted him. "I'm fine! I'm not made of glass, Sully! I told you, there's a crack in the sidewalk, that's all."

He held his arm out, and I ignored it, walking slowly and favoring the hip I'd fallen on, while making sure my jacket was free. He paced me, continuing to bawl me out with "goddamnits," and "you're so fucking stubborn," and "Thank God you didn't take me up on my offer to go to the Carribean, you're fucking impossible." I slowed after about eight feet, tried to look winded, walked another two feet, and put my hand out on a car, leaning hard against it at an angle that would allow me to see the same branch. There was more rustling, and I was sure I saw the tip of a boot.

"Jesus, fuck, Tempe!" yelled Sully, as he came to my side and scanned the trees while pretending to run his hand through his hair. "Damnit, give me your arm." I gave him an EDG, and he pretended to cringe. "Fine. You fall on your ass again, you explain to that hard-ass why you're covered in bruises." His eyebrow lifted, the side of his mouth away from the clear line from the tree quirking. "Come on, you pain in the ass, let's get going."

I drew in a breath, steeled my spine. Here we go, straight at the shooter. "Don't fucking get uppity, Sullivan. Go get the car, I'm on my way." He nodded, then started to stalk off, until I fell into the car again.

"For Christ's sake!" He yelled, putting his arm at my waist and loosening the weapon still at the small of my back so that it would draw, quickly. "Another five feet, and I'll drop, and you go. I'll roll up and cover."

"Come on." He started forward, his hand at my waist, and at five feet, I pulled away from him, pretending to hit the ground sitting on my knees, and crying out in seeming anger and pain.

"I'm getting the fucking car. You stay right there." He advanced, and I put my right hand behind me, just as he picked up his pace, heading right for the tree, and pulling his gun to shoot. Shots were returned, and Mel and Evan spilled out of the car, ducking behind it to shoot. I rolled, pulled my weapon as I gained my feet, and ran forward to duck behind the nearest car. Another shot fired, grazing Sully's forearm, and he lost his grip on his gun, then ducked and rolled so he could draw his left-hand weapon from his shoulder holster. Mel and Evan weren't close enough to take a good shot, and as I caught another rustle, my reflexes pulled me upward to just clear the trunk of the car, from twenty feet away, my arm raising of its own accord as I shot, three times, aiming for four feet above the tree limb. The shots from the tree stopped, and a body fell out of the tree. Sully had regained his feet then, so I ducked again behind the car while he ran over to check, Mel and Evan behind him.

"Tempe, it's clear," I heard. I raised my head above the trunk line, scanned the surrounding trees to check for further movement. None. Looked like it was a single shooter. I could hear sirens heading toward us, but jogged forward to get a better look. It was Santana, clearly, all three with their guns trained on him. Good—I hadn't killed him, just gotten him in the abdomen and thigh, enough to immobilize him long enough to make him talk.

I squatted down, after making sure Mel had kicked the rifle away, and looked him in the eye. He was in a lot of pain, but conscious and lucid. "Santana, you son of a bitch. Not only are you a lousy agent, you're a lousy shot."

"Evan, I'll cover if you want to run over and get a doctor." He nodded, and took off as I trained my weapon on Santana, right between his eyes. I EDG'd him for good measure. He shrank, and didn't resist as the gurney came over and they hoisted him, not gently, onto it, cuffing him to the sidebars before setting off back toward the E.R.

The adrenaline was wearing off then, and the dizziness I'd felt before came back, so I backed up to lean against the tree.

"Dr. Brennan, are you alright?"

"Thanks, Mel, nothing unexpected. I'll be fine. I'm just going to sit." I allowed myself to slide down to sit and wait, my eyes closed, as the sirens came nearer. The whole thing couldn't have taken more than three minutes, but you're right about time stretching and compressing—it had all happened so fast, and my firing hadn't been a conscious thing.

Your truck screeched around the entrance, then, two more following. Don't ask me how I knew it was yours—must have been something about the insane way you were driving. You slowed, as you saw we were clear, weapons drawn but not trained, but still came to a screeching halt right in front of us.

As soon as your door opened, I yelled. "I'm fine!" You slowed your breakneck run to a mere sprint, scanning the area all the while, then stopping before me, your face the mask it always is when you don't know yet what's happened. "I'm fine, really. Get them to clean up this mess, will you? We owe Sully and Mel and Evan a drink at O'Reilly's."

Mel laughed. "Hardly."

"Who was it?" you growled.

"Santana," answered Sully, holding a folder cloth over his arm, but otherwise looking fine.

"He dead?"

"No. Tempe got a thigh and two gut shots. He should be out of surgery in an hour or two."

"Nice job, Bones. Someone call Sam? He'll want to take care of that, personally."

"We got it." Mel and Evan moved back to their vehicle, Sully standing off to the side, as you squatted down in front of me, to brush some hair off my face.

"Still here?"

"Still here. Give me a kiss, husband." You smiled, and obliged.

"You want to get up?"

"Not yet. I was dizzy, before, but it's good because I never would have seen him unless I turned my head at the right time. I want to let the post-adrenaline shakes burn off for a few more minutes."

"Good girl." You were still squatting, though, so I swatted you. "Go, clear this until Sam shows up. I really do want a drink and a burger."

"Do you need to go back inside?"

I checked my bandage—still intact, no seepage. "No, I'll just have a few bruises from the set-up and the cover."

"Badass."

"Hardass."

"Pain in the ass."

"Jackass."

"Love of my life."

"Wife, love of my life." Wife. That's nice.

- - -

"Bones, we should just go home."

"No. I said I would buy them a drink, and we're going to."

"Bones, you said you were dizzy."

"I am. I'll sit. No dancing or singing, just lots of sitting, and one of Billy's bacon special vegetarian salads."

"I don't want you to get tired."

"We'll only stay an hour."

"A half hour."

"An hour. I already shot someone today, don't make me have to do more paperwork. You're already going to have to explain why I fired a weapon that's supposed to be in your truck."

"No, I won't. Sam asked me when I got in if you were armed. I don't think he's worried."

"Good."

"It's not really safe."

"Booth—we are going to a bar full of cops, and we will be sitting at the very back of the room, with probably thirty other guns between us and the door. They won't try again today."

"How can you be sure?"

"All's well that ends well, and that was a day's ending if ever I saw one."

"Nice shot, by the way."

"Thanks. Can I have a gun now?"

"Don't start. Please."

- - -

We all made it to O'Reilly's, Sam coming in the opposite direction from Sully, Mel, Evan, and us. He looked at me quizzically, then shook his head as he took us in, me still wearing the holster and weapon. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I presume?"

"I don't know what that means."

- - -

Sam entered first, then opened the door wider, me next, then you, Sully flanking. "For Christ's sake," you grumbled, pushing past us. "They're just as likely to shoot Booth as me, and Billy knows better than to let an unescorted stranger in."

"Temperance, dear, woman of the hour!"

"Hello, Billy, my love," you said, walking behind the bar to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Billy, we've had a bit of excitement this afternoon, and I'm feeling a bit peaky. Could I have something with lots of bacon, and two bottles of the Connemara? I feel in need of a bit of the _uisge beatha_. And I owe Sam a quart of Rocky Road, if you have it."

He gave you a pat, then pushed you back to me. "You go sit, lamb, I'll bring your things right over."

You returned, and let me put my hand at your back as we went to the table. I was surprised, you were handling it well, the last two times you'd shot someone you hadn't reacted well.

The bar patrons quieted as we passed, nods and quiet hellos, until we settled into the back booth, you in the middle and the rest of us sitting around you.

"Jesus, boys. The table's oak and weighs a ton, I'll just duck under."

Mel shook his head. "You're a pain in the ass, Temperance. A good one."

"Thanks, I take that as a compliment."

Sam laughed, then hailed Billy as he came over with the bottles. "Colleen will be out with your club sandwich soon, love. Anyone else want something?"

We ordered, you looking okay and not too shaky, though you gripped my leg under the table, then stroked it, before leaving your hand to rest there.

"Well, Sam, here's your whiskey. No review board, right?" You shot him your '_I'm the fierce Temperance Brennan and I've already shot someone today_' charm smile, and he laughed.

"Well, when you put it that way, how could I possibly say no?"

He poured out a round, and raised his glass. "Slainte."

"Slainte," said all.

You bantered, and tucked into your sandwich, eating it all plus the fries, thank you for humoring me, Bones, and then poured another round when the rest of our food came out, Billy proudly bearing a tub of Rocky Road over at the end.

"Thanks, Temperance. Billy doesn't usually have ice cream."

Billy just laughed. "Oh, what the lass wants, she gets."

Your hand crept further up my leg then, stroking me through my pants, and it was clearly time to go.

"What the lass wants," you said, "is to bid you all a good night, my hearty thanks, and I'll see you all soon." Sam and Sully slid out, and you pulled Sully down for a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks again," you said, and I repeated the thanks, catching up with you as you waited by the door.

- - -

"Still here?" Your hand was unbuttoning my pants as you locked the door with one hand.

"Still here," I responded, dropping my bag, and shrugging off my coat and jacket.

You opened the closet door, both of us checking our safeties and leaving our weapons in the box, your hands at my waist and pulling me to you as I turned to unbuckle your belt. I'd insisted on going out to prove to myself my own strength, that I wasn't so weak that I would collapse right away, but I'd needed your hands on me to prove I was still here as soon as I saw you.

It was a series of fumbling stops to shed clothes, bracing against walls as we ran our hands over each other, on the way back to the bedroom, you picking me up as we both finally shed our pants, and dropping me onto the bed as you pulled off your boxers and I knelt to remove my own bra and underpants. And then you were on me, running your hands over me as much as I stroked you, felt you, made sure of your solidity under my hands. I wanted to feel warm, living flesh, not recoiling cold metal. I pressed my lips to the arms you had braced on either side of me, and reached down to grasp you, feel your heat and hardness, know that you needed me as much as I needed you.

This is what I hadn't been able to do, the last two times, but it was more than just the final discharge of adrenaline and fear. It was making sure of the other, not just my own, existence. More than biology, more than hormones. It was heart, and need, and love, and fear, and anger all together.

Your mouth was on my breasts, your tongue moving hard and quickly against my nipples, and you pulled away from my hands to push my legs apart with one knee. I stroked my hands across your back, beginning to believe you were there, again, and that therefore, I was there, too. Your fingers tested me, as I arched against you, wet with longing and hasty desire.

"I need to be inside you," you groaned, my only response a "Please," and you slid yourself into me, as quickly as I wanted and burned for, my legs wrapping around you to pull you as deep inside as I could. I wanted to obliterate a little of myself tonight, the part that didn't regret what I'd done. I moaned as you filled me, making me more, making me different and better, and you shifted one hand under my hips to tilt me to you, as I grasped you tight enough for my breasts to brush against your chest as we began to move together, my nipples erect with the friction and the ache that had grown in me as soon as you got out of your car and I saw you again. A tremor passed though me, as I arched my hips again against you, your mouth descending to bite at the curve of my neck, then suck there as I tightened my legs around you, still not able to get enough of you. I pulled my legs away from you then, and understanding what I needed, you withdrew long enough to bring my legs over your shoulders and grasp me, resheathing yourself in one stroke so powerful that I could feel the fear beginning to be physically driven from me.

"Yes!" I called, as I arched up again, my arms grasping your shoulders as I could feel myself starting to melt. You returned to me again, as powerfully as before, and I cried out in relief as I felt my ability to think, to remember, dissolving, giving myself over to just knowing your body fit perfectly into mine, again and again, until I was nothing but heat, and movement, and sensation, a wave of rippling heat spreading through me as I moaned "Booth, yes, please, yes," you driving me faster over the edge until I cried out with relief at coming back to you, to me, to us.

I was home again, and cried out as another spasm seized me, then your hand reached down between us to start stroking my clitoris, drawing out another orgasm that burned through me so strongly I sobbed "Oh, Seeley, please," with the need you kept stoking within me. You were groaning my name, grunting as you completed each thrust, but your hand never wavered between us as you kept pushing me onward, over the edge and all the way down as I convulsed, and contracted, and screamed, finally falling limp as all the tension within me suddenly drained, drawing a cry of utter completion from me, wordless and prolonged as the last wash of heat burned through me again.

You let yourself go, then, with another few thrusts, your arms shaking in the aftermath before you pulled away enough for me to lower my legs, back to the bed. Still sheathed within me, you lay atop me, then rolled until I was lying atop you, still connected, still one. One arm cradling my head in the crook of your neck, the other holding me at your accustomed home at my back, I panted into the mattress, my blood still pounding through me as the anger dissipated, leaving only contentment and comfort in its place.

"Still here," I murmured, as your arms pulled me closer.

"Still here," you replied, reaching to pull my knees forward even as I began to do so myself, until I was straddling you, your knees up behind me, and we began to prove we were still here, all over again.


	43. Chapter 43

43.

You were sleeping when I got back out of bed-- it was still comparatively early, and my blood was still boiling from earlier. I grabbed my phone and my shorts back off the floor, then closed the door to the bedroom as I headed out to make a few calls.

"Booth."

"Sam. Anything yet?"

"No-- he's out of surgery but still under a lot of anesthesia. We've got someone reviewing the tapes from the storage room going back two months, but even if we find proof, it won't do us any good unless he talks about why he's in on it. They're going to call me as soon as he's lucid and Tim and I will go over."

"Thanks."

"Booth-- I'm as offended about this as you are. This filth, in my house. I called Caroline. She'll be in with the judge for a subpoena on the financials first thing tomorrow. I've got a team over at his place, right now."

"I'll be at the lab tomorrow if I can't get her to stay home."

"She won't."

"I know. But I've got to try."

"I'll call as soon as we have the photos from his apartment, and Caroline will get you financials. She's also asking for a sweep of all Fratelli and Cuggini properties. You can send someone out there when it comes in."

"Done. Thanks, Sam."

"No need. I don't want him as much as you do, but I want him."

I should have killed him the first time. I won't make that mistake again.

I'm sorry, Bones, but I'm writing this on my laptop, password protected. I'll let you read this when it's over, but I really, really, just don't want to talk about it, either way, right now. Thank goodness you have the sense to leave it alone, for now.

- - -

I sat with the files in your office the next morning, as you and Hodgins repaired to his larger lab to look at the particulates again. After an hour, I decided to stretch my legs and check in on you.

You were hunched over the electron scanning microscope, but at least you were using a stool, you infuriating woman.

"Anything?"

You shook your head as Jack glared at the bones again with a magnifier.

"Same cement, the blood will probably be at the warehouse. But it won't tell us anything new."

"Why are you in here, anyway? Jack can handle this, you should rest."

Jack, still looking down at the bones, responded. "Dr. B.'s other doctorates are in Botanic Geology and Materials Science. She's kind enough to let me play with the bugs, rocks, and slime."

"Jack's more _au courant_ on the research than I am," you demurred, still squinting into your microscope. "I only got those doctorates in case I was alone in the field." Bones, only you would get extra doctorates, just in case. No wonder you two came up with that dental polymer so quickly. The more fool me, for not asking. What else have you got up your sleeve?

- - -

The financials ten years back showed small but inexplicable cash deposits, every month, but the sweep of Santana's apartment showed nothing. He claimed Kenton was his sole contact with the Romanos, even after Sam let me have an interrogation room with him for an hour, after the hospital discharged him.

The properties sweep revealed only Vinny Fratelli's blood. The Fratellis were cooperating, but knew nothing, nor did Organized's contacts. It was like they'd disappeared, but I knew they were out there. Waiting.

- - -

Nothing new happened, until the second body showed up, in the fucking fountain of the Jeffersonian gardens, dismembered and mutilated the same way, left to rot somewhere else before they dumped it into the fountain.

"Damnit, Mel, I thought you had someone watching the garden!"

"I did. He's in the interrogation room, waiting for you to get here. Sam's getting financials pulled right now, they're sweeping the place. No goddamned warrants and subpoenas anymore."

"Thanks. I'll be over shortly." I snapped the phone shut, turned to look at you.

"I'm going out there to get it."

"Let Clark do it, he knows how now."

"The torso alone easily weighs a hundred and fifty pounds, I've got to help him. Why does he keep killing the fat ones? Can't he send me the skinny brothers? There's at least two of them. And you'd think they'd have the sense to stay under cover. How the hell is he picking them off? It's the same pistol, same exit wounds, not rifle shells. Can't he at least be original?"

I barked a laugh, despite myself. Your black sense of humor was back in full force. "I'll tell Organized to have their stoolies put the word out on the street that if he's going to make us work, he should send us the skinny ones next. Hold on a sec, will you? I have to go in, pound on the asshole who missed them dumping that body in the fountain."

I stepped out in the hallway. "Sully!" His head popped out of Cam's office. "Can you go out with them while Edison and she get the body?" He stepped back into her office, then reappeared in a vest with his rifle.

"All set."

"Thanks."

You didn't roll your eyes at me, thankfully.

"Be careful, damnit." You stood on your tiptoes, pulled me down for a _'get out of here and get the bad guys_' kiss, and then pushed me off, turning to pull on your coverall and boots. "I'll be back."

"I know. You always are."

- - -

You were being unreasonable, and I was pretty sure every word was audible through my closed office door. "Booth-- we have to testify, the judge won't move the case, it's been almost a year since the arrest. Counsel will get a speedy trial reversal unless it goes. And it's openings this this morning, she probably won't even get to me before lunch. She has to get you on the stand, first. And tomorrow's Tuesday, so we only have the morning for me before she puts Jack on, out of order."

"Bones, you've thrown up four times in the past week, tripped at least six times over nothing, and you've lost fifteen pounds of the eighteen you put back on! This case is too stressful for you. You're not going!"

"We don't know that! This started setting in before we even knew he'd escaped. I'll be sitting, and Caroline will alert the judge I need breaks. I need to do this. We need to do this. I can't stay inside the lab or under the watchful eye of some cop with a shotgun every time another body shows up. Clark's not yet equipped to deal with all the flesh, he's still learning."

"No."

"There will be security in the courtroom."

"Frank's practically seventy years old, he's no good in a fire fight!"

"Booth-- you'll be there, and Sam has to testify, too, and I will bring my gun into the witness box once you get it past Security."

"I'm more worried about you being on the stand all day."

"Booth-- I won't say it again. Caroline's prepared to ask for breaks for me. You can stock the conference room with beef jerky and Gatorade. And I don't really care if I vomit in front of the jury. It will just make defense counsel look bad if he keeps badgering me."

"Temperance, I said no, and that's final."

You were running your hands through your hair, and wearing a track into my carpet. Time for a different track. "Seeley, come here, sit down, please."

You sat, and didn't resist when I pulled your head to my chest, and ran my hand through your hair, rubbing your neck. "We agreed, remember? This is the for sicker, for worse part. I love you. I know you love me. But this is part of catching the bad guys, and if you won't take me over there, I'll get Sam to come and get me. I'd much rather have your company, though. I don't enjoy holding Sam's hand nearly as much."

You let out a weak chuckle. "Can't you be wrong every once in a while?"

"I love you. Let's go." You pulled your head up, then stood, pulling me up slowly. Getting up in and out of chairs and the bed had gotten more difficult, with the head rush I'd started to get. The stool on the platform wasn't as bad, and I'd brought another one in and had my desk elevated so I could work at my computer without getting dizzy. One more week of this round to go.

"You let Frank help you up and down out of that seat if you need it, damnit."

"I love you, too."

- - -

Defense counsel, that snotnosed little bastard, gave his opening, hinting the evidence was tainted, even though the judge had thrown out his motions. But it's bad form to object during openings, so Caroline just shot the judge a look, which he nodded. When defense counsel finished his opening, Caroline did hers, sardonic and brilliant as usual. The judge then excused the jury, and called both of them over to the bench. I could see he was pissed, and that defense counsel was making some kind of proffer, Caroline objecting vehemently, until the judge said, "Well, I'll see where you go with it, but it's on your head if I step in right in front of the jury. You'd better go advise your client before you go further."

It looked like he did, the two of them shooting looks at us where we sat, behind the bar, but close enough to pass notes to Caroline. "Ready, judge," called defense counsel, and the jury filed back in not long after. I slid out from beside you as Caroline called me, to detail the discovery, the arrest, and my part of the investigation.

"And who was it who determined that a ball-peen hammer was used to kill the victim?"

"Dr. Temperance Brennan and Dr. Jack Hodgins, from the Jeffersonian Institute."

"And did that evidence play a role in your eventual arrest of the defendant?"

"It did."

"Without getting into the details of the analysis conducted by the Jeffersonian, would you please tell the jury how the results of their findings affected the rest of your investigation?"

It went like it usually did, then, my talking about how we searched the defendant's apartment and barn, finding the weapon and blood traces in the hayloft, as well as on the floor where the victim had fallen, before he bundled her into a tarp and dumped her. And then she was done with me, and it was defense counsel's turn. He did what he could to insinuate that the evidence was tainted, claiming that I had a grudge against the defendant, but the judge sustained Caroline's objection, saying "If that's all you've got, counsel, it's not enough. Next question." He didn't keep me on the stand much longer, and when I was done, Caroline soliciting my unreversed record on warrants and probable cause on redirect, he asked for a fifteen minute recess.

The judge granted it, and the little rat scurried out into the hall. I made my way back to you. You still looked pale, and thin, and wan, but you weren't green with nausea, which was at least something.

"How you doing, Bones?" I whispered, as the judge called the jury back in.

"Fine. I'm okay to get up there."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Caroline called you then, and you stood, slowly, but in a way that just looked dignified, and you made your way across to the witness box without tripping, then sat, slowly, again seeming professional and deliberate. You testified to the recovery, the initial examination, and the reasons why you'd asked Jack to become involved in the investigation, before it was time for the lunch break. The judge excused the jury, you standing and bracing yourself lightly against the bench as they filed out, shooting me a _'stay put_,' look, because defense counsel was still in the courtroom. You then made your way, slowly but dignified, back, and we went out into the hallway and into the conference room Caroline had commandeered. This time, you let me take your elbow as you sank in the chair.

Caroline entered then, flipping shut her phone. "How you doing, Cherie? You're looking good up there. You up for the rest of the afternoon?"

You nodded. "I have to be, you've got to finish with me today so he can get cross in tomorrow morning, then put Jack on."

"You're a strong woman, Cherie, and that jury's hanging on every word. Lots of note-taking. I called Sid, he's going to have someone run over lunch, let's go over the next part again to make sure I have all the questions right..."

- - -

You got back on the stand before defense counsel got back in, so you tolerated my walking you to the stand and standing by while you got back in your chair. The steak sandwich and papaya protein shake Sid had sent over seemed to be doing you good. "Love you," I whispered, and you smiled, as I turned and walked back again, behind the bar.

You continued to talk about the conclusions you drew from Jack's findings, as to the relevance of the particulates connecting the hammer and tissue and skull, then described the evidence you found at the scene when we searched it before making the arrest.

"And were you involved in the questioning of the defendant, Dr. Brennan, after he was arrested?"

"I was."

"Please describe for the jury what questions you asked, in conjunction with the testimony Special Agent Booth has already given."

"I showed the defendant the hammer, advised him that the particulates contained horse fecal matter, infected with a bacteria and medication that veterinary records revealed the defendant's horses were being treated for at the time of the victim's death."

"Did the defendant respond?"

"Not verbally."

"What do you mean, not verbally?"

"The defendant's pupils contracted, the muscles at his jaw twitched, and he shifted his weight in the chair."

"Objection, your honor! May I be heard at sidebar?"

Caroline and that little bastard went over to the sidebar, arguing about someting. I shot you the _'can you hear what he's saying_' look, and you returned me a _'no, sorry_' look.

"Objection overruled," said the judge, and then Caroline resumed her questioning.

"Dr. Brennan, you just testifed to a number of physical reactions the defendant had when you confronted him with the evidence you've shared with the jury. Would you please explain why those reactions are significant?"

So you explained your training in kinematics, and biology, and the hormonal and involuntary responses of the brain to stressful revelations, supporting your conclusion that the defendant was lying. I knew the same things, too, but didn't have the requisite training to testify to those reactions. "Gut" is not admissible, unfortunately.

"Your honor, I am done with Dr. Brennan for now. May we please have a short recess?" The judge agreed, and defense counsel scurried, rodent-like, out of the courtroom again. You got up, came over, and we stepped back out into the conference room. Counsel was on his phone in the corner, whispering something I couldn't here. Closing the door, you went over to the table and downed a gatorade, grimacing as you took your last swallow.

"Have some peanut butter," I said.

"Sorry," you said. "I don't think I can, right now. That gatorade didn't go down so well. I'd better let it settle."

Caroline stuck her head back in, then. "Cheries, come on, got to start again. You were fabulous, Doctor."

We made our way back in, you on your way to the stand. Your shoulders were tighter than usual, which meant you were bracing your center of gravity against some wave of dizziness. Oh, Bones. I hate this.

"Dr. Brennan," began counsel, sneering at you. "You've been working with the FBI for four years now, correct?"

"Yes, that's true."

"And you've been partners with Agent Booth all that time?" I didn't like where this was going, and Caroline didn't either, given the way she'd shifted forward in her seat.

"With the exception of two cases, when I worked with Agent Sullivan, yes."

"And you and Agent Booth have solved a large number of crimes, in fact, you have a 97 closure rate, isn't that so?"

"Yes, it is." You didn't smile, or smirk, or otherwise look proud, like I might have-- just professional, dignified, regal.

"Are you aware, Dr. Brennan, that the rest of the agents at the D.C. branch have only an 85 closure rate?"

"I was not aware of the number, but I was aware our closure rate was higher, yes."

"Isn't it true, Dr. Brennan, that the only case you did not solve is the one where you and Agent Booth were _not_ working together?" I can't believe he had the fucking audacity to bring up the Gravedigger case. The damned thing had been all over the press.

"Objection, your honor. Sidebar, please?"

There was another conference, the defense counsel explaining, and Caroline looking more steamed than I'd ever seen her before. She shot me a _'here we go'_ look, as the judge responded, "Objection overruled, your exception is noted, Ms. Julian."

"If you're referring to the time I was buried five feet below the ground with Dr. Hodgins by a serial kidnapper and murderer called the Gravedigger, then yes, that's correct."

Defense counsel looked annoyed. "Nonresponsive, your honor? Move to strike."

The judge frowned. "I think Dr. Brennan fairly responded, counsel. She could reasonably need the clarification. Overruled."

"And in the four years you've been working with Agent Booth, isn't it true that you've killed two suspects while chasing them with Agent Booth, despite the fact that you are not licensed to carry a handgun?"

"No, it's not true. I am licensed to carry firearms-- in this District, in Maryland, and Virginia." He was pissed. I was glad the concealed carry application was sealed, and that I'd cleared that arrest, all over again.

"Forensic anthropologists don't normally shoot people, do they?"

You smiled faintly, but sadly. "Not normally, no. Unfortunately, it was necessary under the circumstances."

"Dr. Brennan. You and Agent Booth recently married, isn't that true?"

You smiled then, beautifully. "Yes, that's correct."

"And yet, you'd like this jury to believe that you and Agent Booth have not been involved romantically throughout the course of your partnership, causing you each to kill suspects endangering the other, and fixing the evidence in the other's favor?"

Caroline objected, the judge overruled. What the hell? Personal bias, sure, but this was way beyond the pale. I'm going to strangle that little shit when this is over. How dare he? I gripped the bar, so I wouldn't launch myself over it, and stomp him, right there.

Your expression closed, but you mananged not to EDG him. Taking a breath, you turned to the judge. "Your honor, may I respond in some detail? I'd like to answer counsel's highly personal question in sufficient detail to address his insinuations of bias."

The judge nodded. "I'll allow it." Defense counsel objected, citing his right to cross examine, but the judge responded, saying, "You opened the door, counsel. Overruled."

You took another breath, and looked at me. _'Here goes everything_, _I'm not letting him win this,_' your eyes said, a look of cold fury on your face. Oh, Temperance, love. I'm sorry. We'd tried to keep this out of the public arena.

"Agent Booth and I have been partners for four years and one month, three years and ten months of which involved only a professional relationship. And yes, I have killed for him, as he has for me. If you'd ever had a partnership with someone you could trust utterly, you would understand. But at no time have I ever thrown evidence his way, and if you had pried as completely as you have improperly into our lives, you would have learned that in several cases, the closure was delayed while I demanded further evidence. You would have also learned, had you continued to engage in effective, not selective, gossip-mining, that multiple persons, not simply affiliated with my lab or the FBI, can attest to the strictly non-romantic nature of our relationship until recently. Two months ago, however, I was diagnosed with late-stage cancer, which you would also know if you paid any attention to the press. The diagnosis caused Agent Booth and I to re-evaluate our relationship and decide to marry, since I was given only a 35 percent chance of survival, and we agreed that the feelings that we each come to have for the other made the maintaining a merely professional partnership untenable. I have not regretted that decision at all, since my most recent blood cultures have shown no reduction in the white blood cell and differential counts used to confirm continued presence of cancerous cells. If you'd like to continue to pry into my bias and personal life, I'll give you the name of my neurooncologist. Perhaps you'd like to have my biopsy results next week?" You'd paled as you said this, but pulled your hands into your lap. I expect you were shaking with fury.

As you disclosed your prognosis, my poor, brave, wonderful Bones, Caroline stiffened in shock, and several jurors gasped. Poor Frank looked like he was going to cry, and defense counsel just gaped. The judge, his shoulders straightening, looked over at counsel, and said, coldly, "I think that's enough for this line of questioning." Then he turned to you, and said, "Dr. Brennan, would you care for a recess, perhaps a half hour?"

You nodded. "Thank you, your Honor." The judge excused the jury, and you pushed yourself up to stand as they exited, many looking shocked and concerned as you leant more heavily against the bench. As soon as they exited, Frank rushed forward to lend you his arm, and escorted you back over to me, holding open the gate as I met you to slip my arm around my waist. I looked over at the defendant and his lawyer. They're going to pay.

I helped you out of the courtroom and across the hall, you leaning heavily into me, your legs unsteady, your breathing quick and shallow. As soon as I got you settled back in your chair, the door closing behind us, you started yelling. "I can't believe he would impugn your integrity like that! Doesn't he know you're a decorated veteran?! Doesn't he know how many people's lives you have saved?! I've got to eat something so I can go back in there and strangle him. Or shoot him. Or stab him. Or maybe all three. I'll carve his heart out! Get me some peanut butter and a rice cake, will you?" Your hands were shaking as you reached for a Gatorade, but you couldn't unscrew the top, so you tossed it to me. "Here, open this, will you? I need to get back in there and kill him." Oh, Temperance. What did I do to deserve you?"

"Bones, I was thinking the same about you. Will you let me take care of him? Please?"

You shook your head. "He's mine. Even if I have to wait until this is over to do it, he's mine."

"Bones, calm down. He's just gambled, and lost."

"I don't think so. He'll probably get a mistrial. But I just couldn't let that go. I can't believe him!" You paled, your hands shaking harder.

I handed you a rice cake, spread with almost an inch of peanut butter. "Here, eat, then you can yell some more. Love, please?" You took it with both hands, and managed to get a bite before dropping it on the table. Oh, Bones, my sweetheart. You're tearing my heart out again, putting it back better being so angry for me and not taking care of yourself.

"Damnit, just give me a spoon." You managed to hold on to that, and handed it back to me so I could get you another scoop. You managed three more before you handed it back. "No more. I'll get sick again if I do."

I handed you the gatorade, your hands still shaking. "Hold on, I'll get a straw."

You smiled at me. "Always prepared. Wet wipes in the car, holsters under the seat, straws in the conference room." You sipped some, and put it down as I came to stand behind you, pulling your head against me as I massaged your neck and shoulders.

"I'll make you a deal. You shoot him, I'll stab him, you carve his heart out while I strangle him." You set your drink down, and pulled my hand over to pat it, then began twisting my ring on my finger. You'd taken up the gesture, too.

"Deal. I'm kneecapping him, though, too."

We sat there, as the half hour passed. "I'd better go check with Caroline," I offered. "Let me get the chief court officer, okay?" You nodded, and I stepped out in the hall, where Frank was waiting, still looking stricken.

"Frank-- can you and Bobby keep Dr. Brennan company while I go see what's going on with Caroline?"

He nodded, glad to have something to do, and went off, coming back quickly with Bobby, who was at least fit, and I'd heard he was a good shot. "Thanks, guys." They both nodded grimly and went in, while I headed back into the court room. Caroline and defense counsel were over near the reporter, arguing ferociously. When she saw me come in, she spit out something else, then came over.

"Oh, Cherie, oh my goodness," she said, as she reached me. "He moved for mistrial-- the judge didn't give it to him. Told him he could deal with it on an ineffective assistance of counsel claim. Now he wants to plead out, but he still has the brass to think I'm not going to insist on at least two thirds of the maximum sentence."

"Would he go to Oakdale?" She looked surprised, then a look of realization crossed her face. Oakdale was where you father waited out his trial. Russ, too. She laughed, then, bitterly, and said only, "He would, come to think of it."

"I'll go ask her."

I went back in, you entertaining Bobby and Frank with the last two stanzas of _'Seven Drunken Nights_.' They stood as I came in, went to leave. "It's okay, guys, you can stay. We appreciate your help." I sat down opposite you, pulled your hands into mine. "The judge denied the mistrial. We can keep going, but he wants to plead out. Caroline wants to insist on two thirds of the maximum sentence if we agree to the plea. He'd end up in Oakdale."

The look of fury eased on your face, your initial reply pulling a bitter smile from you. "Fitting. But if he won't take the two-thirds, let's see it through."

Bobby said, "We'll wait."

I nodded again, and walked out. As I passed counsel and his murderous client, I couldn't resist giving them both my long-range stare. They'll be on the receiving end of it again, behind a scope, if I have my way. Then I reached Caroline, and she quipped, "I know a nice grassy knoll for you." I snorted, but couldn't muster a real laugh, since I was pretty sure she knew what I was thinking. "We'll take the two thirds-- otherwise, we want to go all the way." And then, she pulled me into a hug. "Oh, Cherie, I'm so sorry," she murmured, then pulled away. "Now you go keep that fine woman company. I'll come get you when it's time to start again."

I turned again, caught counsel's eye again. I _will_ get him, one way or the other.

- - -

"I need to go back to the lab to get my laptop. I'm not going in tomorrow." I shot you a glance.

"Are you sure you want to go back now? Everyone will still be there, and word's bound to have made it back already. I can go get it later, leave you at Sid's and come back, or have Sam send someone over to get it and bring it back to the house."

You sighed, looking only sad and resigned now. "We probably should have told them a long time ago. I just didn't want to think about it. But it's out there, now, and we might as well get their reactions worked through, so we can get back to work."

I parked at the closest spot again, Security having since moved your reserved space sign to demarcate it as yours. When we came off the elevator to the ground floor, and passed Larry at the Security Desk, he nodded, face grave, but said nothing. When we entered the lab, one hand on your back and the other on your elbow, everyone was up on the platform, Sully included. They turned, then, as a one, each one of them bearing their own stricken expression. You sighed, and murmured to me, "Let's go upstairs. There's more room there, and they finished putting the shades in yesterday."

Then, raising your voice, you smiled, wryly, and said, "Hell of a day at court, everyone. Let's go upstairs." Everyone descended, Sully striding ahead and up the stairs to make sure of the shades before we got there. Good man.

You got halfway up the stairs, and then wobbled, even with my arms on you and your hand on the railing. "Upsy-daisy, Bones," I said, Cam's hand at my back as I stepped down a stair to lift you. My poor Bones. No more stairs for you, after this.

I got you settled on the couch, your back braced against me, as everyone else mounted the stairs. Ange immediately came to sit next to you, tears streaming down her face as you reached out your hand and grasped hers.

"It doesn't change anything," you began, your voice steady. "You all knew all along that it was serious, and that I'm as stubborn as a mule. You all know that statistics are not 100 percent certain, and I'm pretty damned exceptional, and the rest of you are, too. We're all going to keep doing what we've been doing-- catch the bad guys. And if I have to just videoconference the site from the lab while the talented Dr. Edison gets to enjoy the sweet smell of organ decay, well, it's time we used all the expensive equipment we all suck up to the donors for. I'm sorry if you feel that we should have told you more-- but it's just been a lot, and neither of us feel like it changes anything." I nodded, though we'd gone back and forth on it a fair amount before you convinced me. My poor Bones. Poor us. Poor everyone. But you're right. We could get hit by a truck, tomorrow, which makes the rest of it not worth speculation.

Cam shook her head. "Well, you know best. Did he at least take the plea?"

I nodded. "He did. Two-thirds sentence. He's going to Oakdale."

Cam and Sully, who knew the significance, merely said, "Good."

And then we changed the subject, you holding Ange's hand all the while, and her tears slowly stopping as her face set with determination, and everyone else's did, too. Her voice cracking, Angela said, "Well, what are we sitting here moping for? We have bad guys to catch." You leant forward, and kissed her temple, as everyone got up and stood, and started down the stairs, Angela waiting until last, as Jack stood at the head of the stairs. "Forgiven?" you asked, as Angela choked on a sob and gave a watery smile. "Nothing to forgive, lovies." And then she stood, and squared her shoulders, and got back to work.

Sometimes, it's all you can do.


	44. Chapter 44

44.

"Ready to go downstairs?"

"I guess."

"I'm sorry, Bones."

"There's nothing to be done about it. It is what it is."

And then I let you pick me up and carry me downstairs. I wondered if it was going to be a regular ocurrence from now on, and how soon it would be before even flat surfaces would be beyond me. Somehow, I thought that it might. I'd just have to work on my tongue-lashing technique, since physically kicking someone's ass was no longer an option. You set me down at the foot of the stairs, everyone else pretending not to have seen, and left your hand at my back as we made my way back to my office.

"I'll pack up. Will you let Cam know I'll be out tomorrow, then we'll both go see Angela?"

"Will do."

As I packed up my laptop and some limbo files I'd been working on in between the Fratelli bodies that were piling up, I reflected. I wanted to come in tomorrow, really, I did, but that burst of fury at court had left me feeling weaker than I had yet, combined. I needed to sit, and sleep, and do what I could to eat, even though apples, peanut butter, rice cakes, deli ham, and cheddar cheese, my new caramel pot de cremes, pasta and butter, and Sid's fruit/protein milkshakes, were really the only things that didn't make me a bit queasy right now. That steak sandwich at lunch was the exception, but Sid couldn't very well become our personal chef. And no more than a cup at a time, before I got the lurches. The weight fell off twice as fast as I'd put it on, and I knew even before the blood cultures were back, that I was going to have to do another round. I'd already called the Dean of the Faculty, and asked him to replace me with someone else for next semester's seminar. It was a more basic recovery techniques class, something one of the archaelogy faculty could handle. I didn't want this. As much as I hate feeling helpless myself, I hate seeing even more how it affects you, and our friends. There are so many things you can do, so many talents you can bring to bear to solve so many different problems, but this was beyond either of us.

"Ready?" You came in and picked up my bag, slinging it over your shoulder, your hand at my back and my elbow as we crossed the lab to Angela's office.

"Ange?" She looked up from her computer. "I'm not coming in tomorrow, and Booth's going with me to tomorrow afternoon's session. I'll be available by phone, but not in the afternoon until, well, you know the drill."

She nodded and got up, came over to hug me. "You're the bravest people I know," she whispered. I nodded. There wasn't anything to say beyond the fact that when you have no choice, it's not really bravery, and I didn't want to burden her with that now.

"I'll call you tomorrow, Angela. Promise." She gulped, and waved, and we walked out.

- - -

We got home by six, and the answering machine was blinking like a strobe light. I slung your bag over by your chair, and sighed as I considered all the calls that were likely on there. How many were friends? How many were press, vultures, looking for comment? You braced your hand on the wall, then walked back to the bedroom. A few minutes later, I heard, "Seeley?"

I walked in, and you were sitting on the edge of the bed, already undressed, your usual pair of flannel pants and camisole for kicking around the house on the floor, the earlier look of resignation on your face. "Would you look through the red storage tub downstairs? There are some pairs of silk pyjamas and robes down there. The cotton's too scratchy." Shit. Delia said that might happen, with muscle aches and skin sensitivity setting in. I don't suppose we need to wait for the biopsies she's taking tomorrow to come back.

I changed into some sweats, and said "I'll be right back." I pressed a kiss on your forehead, for whatever good it might do.

I found them easily, several pair, and brought them back upstairs to you, along with the satin robes and nightgowns you'd stored. You'd never worn them, never even unpacked them, since we always slept nude, and now you needed them for the worst possible reason, when they should be worn just for taking off right away. "Red? Blue? Green?"

"Doesn't matter, whatever, the pants will probably fall off anyway." Oh, Bones, sweetheart.

"Here," you said, holding out your hand. I handed you the green ones, and put the others in the drawer. You leant back to slide the pants on, then pulled them up, then slowly, so slowly, my poor Bones, pulled the top on over your head. I pulled you up as you held on to your pants, and made sure you were steady, then pulled the drawstring closed for you. It wasn't as bad as it could be. They hung low, but you wouldn't trip on them.

"Come on, baby, let's have some supper." You walked out the door and down the hall again, trailing your hand on the wall as I followed. You'd tripped on the threshold last week and earned a bruise to match the one from the shootout with Santana on your other hip.

You walked over to the couch, pulled your legs up under the new cashmere throw I'd gotten you when the other new one I'd bought wasn't warm enough and was too scratchy. You turned so you could look over the back of the couch as I put something together, and asked, "Give me the phone and a notepad, I'll check the messages."

I started the water for pasta, then grated some cheddar and chopped up some ham while I waited for it to boil-- you'd tried your own mac and cheese, but the cream sauce was too rich for you. I was trying to eat what you ate, so you wouldn't feel lonely. At least you could eat things that were comparatively balanced, still, but there were only so many ways you could combine nine ingredients. Maybe I could try something asian-y with spaghetti and peanut butter and apples. Sid might have an idea or two-- he'd always managed to come up with the most wild and yet tasty combinations when we were crossing the Junik Mountains on the way to Albania, scavenging what passed for greenery and wildlife in the middle of December. Only guy I know who can make vulture and lichen taste decent, and he always managed to come up with something hot, so important when it's sleeting for four days straight. We were both lucky we didn't come down with pneumonia, though Alfie did after we made it over the border. Your pen was scratching away still, and I wondered how many messages there were.

Your pen stopped, then, and you looked up. "Not as bad as it could be-- mostly friends-- Billy, Sam, Mel, Jeanne and Sid. One call from People, one from US Weekly, one call from Henry. I should call my Dad and Karen, though, in case it's on the news tonight, if it hasn't been already on the five o'clock news. I know there was a reporter in that courtroom."

I listened as you called Karen, sketched out the news, and gave her the name of the reporters who'd called, and confirmed that you were signing your new contract. And then you talked to your Dad, who'd already heard, and you reassured him that despite all, you weren't feeling that bad, and would plan on seeing him Wednesday. "He wants to talk to you," you said, handing over the phone.

I walked over, took it, cradled it against my shoulder as I poured in the pasta and stirred.

"Max."

"Son. He's going to Oakdale?"

"Max, it won't be necessary. It's enough. But I appreciate it."

"Mmm-hmm. How about the lawyer?" That was a non-committal response if ever I heard one. Max knows about plausible deniability.

"Caroline's filing a complaint with the bar overseers. She thinks she can get the judge to sign on."

"That's not enough."

"I know. But, just, leave it, Max."

"Mmm-hmm. Who the hell was he getting his information from?" Well, he'd find out and do what he wanted, no matter what we asked at this point. He was on the warpath.

"I don't know, Max. If it's someone at the lab or the Hoover, I won't be happy."

"Neither will I." Max Keenan, master of understatement.

"Never again, son."

"Never have, never will."

I hung up the phone, and dialed Sam at his direct line. I figured he still would be there-- this Fratelli thing was a total clusterfuck.

"Booth."

"I won't be in tomorrow, I'll be back in Wednesday."

"I'll call if anything happens. Oakdale, hunh?" Jesus, Bones, even the deputy director wants a hit out on this guy and his lawyer.

"Sam, that won't be necessary."

"Why, Max taken care of it already?" Good lord. Did Sam just outright ask me if my father-in-law, the one who killed Sam's own boss, had put a hit out as a favor to me?

"Sam."

"Sorry. Forget that I asked. Look, Caroline said you two have one more trial up, in January. Want me to have someone squeeze him on a plea?"

"Nothing out of what you would ordinarily do."

"Understood. Tell her I said to take care."

"Thanks."

I drained the pasta, stirred in the rest of the ingredients, after adding the butter, and measured out your one cup of food. It looked so little, in the bowl, but you'd tried pushing it, and one cup every two hours was it before you turned green. I plated my own and headed over to the couch, setting them down as I went back for a beer for me, and a leftover mango shake you hadn't finished at breakfast.

"Scoot over there, Bones." We ate in silence, your feet in my lap, and then when we were done, I got up to clear the dishes. "You want an apple?"

"Half of one. There should be one in there all ready."

"Got it. Here, catch." At least your reflexes were still good.

I came back, and sat down again, settling your feet back in my lap and under the blanket again, as you rested your head back against the sofa arm and closed your eyes to listen better. I reached for one of my all-nighter-books we'd been reading-- one of the ones I'd pored through in high school, until even now I practically knew them by heart, though it had been years since I'd touched them. We'd finished the first volume, and were starting the second. You'd never read them before, but seemed to be enjoying them now-- or at least you were fascinated by the intricate linguistic and folkloric background the author had built before even writing the story, even if maybe you thought all the adventure stuff was boring. But if you did, you were doing a good job of hiding it.

"_Book Three, Chapter 1: The Departure of Boromir. Aragorn sped up the hill. Every now and again he bent to the ground. Hobbits go light, and their footprints are not easy even for a Ranger to read, but not far from the top a spring crossed the path, and in the wet earth, he saw what he was seeking_."

- - -

The weight shifted on the bed, a hand brushing hair from my forehead. "Hey, sleepy, good morning." I cracked an eye.

"Hi, husband." Oh, Booth. You're too stressed out to give me that goofy smile, now it's all just variants on sad smiles. My poor Seeley. "What time is it?" You were already dressed, though not for work, which meant you'd been up for a while.

"Nine." So late, for me. We'd made it through chapters one and two of the book last night, but it had still been early when you'd finished, and you'd groaned your way through the last two servings of the _pot de creme_. I was planning on getting up early this morning and making some more to drop off to Sid on the way to the doctor's, to see what he thought about it. There wouldn't be time for the custard to set, now, and I'd be too sore and tired after the treatment and biopsies today to make it tonight. What was wrong with me? I was worrying about making pudding, for God's sake, instead of using the little energy I had in the mornings to work on the Kenton case. Compartmentalizing was not working, clearly. Now I was sublimating. Not good.

"Hey, Bones? You there? Woo-hoo, Bones."

I shook my head. "Sorry. I'll be up in a minute. Any calls?"

"Nothing relevant, just placeholding."

"Give me a minute." Time for the morning mental catalog-- no dizziness on waking. Let's see how rolling to the side does. Good. Okay, legs over the side of the bed, and sit up. Good, no dizziness. You're crouching there, waiting to see if I'm going to need a boost up, and trying to keep your poor forehead unfurrowed. Okay-- big action here, the hand brace and push. Alright. Excellent. Standing is good. This was the hardest part, except for the tub-- the tub that I loved so much, and now it was too high to climb into without bending too far over to avoid a head rush. My place wouldn't be any better though, I had a tub you had to step into, as well, and at least there were only four stairs into the house-- the elevator in my building often went out. So far, Parker's stool had been enough, but the tub was too far from the wall to use it to hold onto. Okay, standing, not wobbling. It's a good morning.

"Hey, good morning." You'd stood up as I did, waiting, but you knew to let me do it myself. Kenton notwithstanding, you're going to get called away in the middle of the night, and between your leaving and someone coming over to keep me company, I simply wasn't going to languish in bed. What's the line between languishing and bedridden? I'm not very good with lines.

"Morning, wife," you said, pulling me to you so you could wrap your arms around my waist, running your hands on my bare skin. You were worried I was going to get too cold without pyjamas on, but I wanted your warmth around me without interference, which meant you'd heaped too many covers onto the bed, which you'd inevitably kick off in the night. "Want a shower?"

"Yes, please." I headed off, you trailing, then pulled out Parker's stool with my foot. You stood to the side, as I stepped up, grabbed your shoulder, and stepped in, then pulled the curtain. "Thanks. I'll call you."

You'd been just picking me up to get me in and out of the tub so I could shower, until I reminded you neither Angela nor my father would be doing the same thing, and that I needed to mostly do it by myself. You hated it. I hate it. But like you'd said, you knew I wouldn't give up, and I know you wouldn't either.

I hate that you're getting up in the middle of the night, to work, and to pace, and to reread those files that we both know by heart. I especially hate that you feel like you had something to hide from me. You don't. I want him dead, too. And it's justice, sure and swift, if it happens, if you get a clear shot. That's all, pure and simple. But I'll kill him if I get the chance, have no doubt about it. (Also? Give me some credit. Temperance spelled backwards? Not the best password, either.)

I love you, you know. All of you. The soft parts, the hard parts, the sharp and prickly edges and the surrounding warmth. They're all you, and without all of them, you wouldn't be the Seeley Booth who I love.

- - -

"Where did the daisies come from?"

"The corner store."

"That's a good corner store. Paneer, prunes, armagnac, 70 percent cacao liquor chocolate, daisies?"

"It is called Kismet. Why are you surprised?"

- - -

"Let's go out on the back porch." You pulled the blanket from the sofa up, a daisy in hand, and followed me as I headed out. You got the door, and settled me into a chair as I watched you take the one next to me, rosary in hand. I plucked my petals, and held them between my closed hands. I know you want me to wish that I'll get better, that everything will be fine, but I just find . . . I can't. It's not fatalism, so much as a recognition of the random nature of the universe, and a belief that asking for a smaller favor might be more helpful, less hubristic, than a large one. I don't want to die. I don't want to leave. But I just have to do the best that I can, and that will have to be enough. Asking not too die is too much. Asking to die well, with enough time to say goodbye, if it's going to happen at all? That level of susperstition I can live with. So you straightened, and looked at me, as I closed my eyes, made my wish, my plea, my silent yell of unfairness to the universe, and thought, '_all's well that ends well_.' I really hoped so. I blew, and then opened my eyes, as the come-from-nowhere breeze again carried the petals away, and we watched them as they floated past the tree, and then saw something glinting.

- - -

There was a glint of metal in the tree. Where no metal should be. I pushed you out of your chair, pulling my weapon and firing three shots even as I came down in front of you to shield you. We were sitting ducks out here. But there weren't any shots returned, and with a thump, he fell out of the tree, bounced off the hammock, and hit the ground with a neck breaking thud. Good.

"Stay down, please," I begged. You just nodded, as Mel hopped the fence and Evan burst through the back door, nearly slamming it into us from where we still were, lying just to the side. Mel ran over to check the body, kicked the weapon away. "You got him," he said. I sat up, then turned to you to see how you were doing. "Fine," you mumbled, rolling from your stomach to you side, and half sitting. "Go put another one in him, just to make sure." Okay, Evan's looking kind of hard of hearing on that last bit, thank goodness. We've got to work on your public plausible deniability skills, Bones.

"Stay put."

You laughed, shakily, and said "Shaky calls me Grace for a reason." Oh, Bones.

I rolled up, and ran down the stairs, then kicked the body face up from where it had landed. It was him- and I'd gotten all three of my shots in, trying hard as I pushed you over to remember exactly how tall he was, so I could aim better, though he wasn't clearly in sight. But I'd done it, by Grace, or Providence, or whatever, one each in the heart, to stop, the neck, to kill, and the head, just to make sure. He was dead before he hit the ground. Too bad. It would have been good if he saw the ground coming, felt the fear before impact. Evan was already on the radio, and Mel'd secured the gun with a plastic bag in his pocket, and handed it toward me, clip released.

I brought it over to you, crouched down, and offered you the gun as I pulled you up to sitting, then crouched so I could make sure you weren't shaking your head to clear the white-out dizziness off. You turned it, so the muzzle faced you.

"Evan? Have you got a flashlight, please?" He handed it down to you, and you shone the light down the barrel, squinting.

"That's it," you said. "I can see the most prominent seam. Nice shot, sweetheart," you said, then, smiling up at me with pride, and vengeance, and satisfaction in your voice. A heavy car pulled out front, footsteps coming up the side of the house, Sam and Sully both hopping the fence. Sam stopped long enough to take in the lack of wounds, then went over to the body, a grim smile on his face.

The guys from evidence arrived right on his heels, though Mel had moved over to the fence to open the gate from inside. As they arrived, Sam said, "Clean this trash up, please, boys."

You let me boost you back up to standing on the porch, but then made your own way back into the house. "I'll start coffee," you said, that naughty June Cleaver look in your eye. "Evan," I muttered, and he followed you in as I went over to look once again, to make sure, once again.

"I'll never understand how you get that three-shot combination off, Seeley, I've never seen anything like it." Sam shook his head.

"Well, you get shot at enough, you learn to make sure."

- - -

You were setting out cups and saucers and cream in the kitchen, in the pyjamas and robe from last night that you'd put back on after your shower. As we traipsed in, you pulled some muffins out of the microwave, the smell of bacon, and cheese, and scallions perfuming the air. I didn't know you had more bacon muffins in the freezer. (You could actually check, you know, it's not like I'm hiding them. Typical male. Rather ask the female where things are than look for it yourself.)

Sully groaned, and said, "Oh, Tempe! Bacon muffins!" before hustling over to the counter and shoving one whole muffin right into his mouth. Sam perked up then. He does love him some bacon. You smiled, and turned to the fridge, coming back with the butter. "Help yourselves, boys," you murmured, pouring yourself a cup of water and sitting at the island.

"Mmm. Temperance. These are incredible," mumbled Sam, as Evan and Mel just kept snarfing muffins and pouring more coffee.

"Bones, you saved some for me, right? 'Cuz I'm the one who actually got him, I think that deserves a bacon muffin or three."

You smiled, and pulled another half dozen muffins out of the microwave. "Of course I did. I'm June Fucking Cleaver, remember?"

Sam was not happy to spray near-scalding-hot coffee out of his nose.


	45. Chapter 45

45.

It took them almost an hour to photograph the scene and bag up Kenton, as well as check out the tree-- scuff marks on the fence at the back of the yard seemed to indicate how he'd gotten in. There was a flophouse hotel key in his wallet, a beat-up old import car down the street with some interesting dirt Jack was sure to go wild on, and no other information in his pockets to give us an immediate lead. He'd been laying low, for sure. Sully took off to sweep the hotel room and talk to the desk clerk.

You were still entertaining the boys, wordlessly refilling Sam's coffee cup as you handed him some paper towels, a smirk at the edge of your mouth. I was bouncing between the yard and the house, trying to decide if it was more important to make sure he was still dead, or that you were still here. They finally cleared, and all of our three crusty cop friends dropped a kiss on your cheek as you handed them each a muffin to go. You're really something, Bones. Butter them up with muffins, so they do whatever you want-- you're like a pistol-packing den mother these days. Mel and Evan were off shift, anyway, and it wasn't likely we'd be bothered again today-- likely the Romanos would stay to ground for a bit, once they learned Kenton was done.

I locked the door, and headed back to the kitchen where you were tidying up, your back to me.

"Where the hell does that breeze come from, every single time, Bones? Those petals are too heavy to carry so far on a breath alone."

You turned and smiled. "Now who's over-analyzing? Don't tempt fate to willfully misunderstand us, Booth."

"Bones. We just got shot at, and you're quoting poetry as explanation?"

You came over, one hand at my waist, and one at my cheek. "Yes. You saw it in time, you drew in time, you hit what you aimed at. You always do. We always do. Those are objective facts, Booth, no matter what else is going on."

I pulled you into me, tucking your head under my chin. I knew you were still here, but there's nothing like physical evidence, in court or in life. But not too much, as much as I might want it, want you, need you. I did the holding back thing for almost four years-- I can do it again, I thought, as the scent of you filled my nose and I willed it to be enough.

You, of course, knew what I was thinking, and pushed away enough to pull my chin down to look at you. "You would never hurt me," you repeated, and pulled at me until you could kiss me. I always choose to believe you-- you have enough certainty for both of us, most of the time-- so I picked you up and carried you back to the bed, letting you down into the middle as I pulled off my own clothes, then helped you with yours.

My poor Temperance. You were already growing bruises on your elbows and the front of your hip bones from where I'd pushed you onto the deck, another one forming on your shoulder where I'd landed on top of you. I pushed you back so I could kiss each new one, then the ones on the sides of your hips from your other falls, the one still on your wrist from last Thursday's needles. You were running your delicate and talented fingers up my sides and my arms, tracing each muscle even as I completed my own inventory. You'd taught me that bigger bruises were better than small ones, because it meant you were still here, so I blessed and cursed each one still blooming on your skin. The pulse beat at the hollow of your neck, so I laid my lips there, waiting for the next pulse before checking the insides of your wrists for the same beat.

You were still tracing and stroking, soothing and stimulating with your touch as I traced with my tongue each blue vein that had become ever-more visible through skin that was already whiter than the moon to begin with. You sighed and continued to touch me, letting me know you were here. I wanted to taste you, to feel the heat at the center of you, keeping you warm and feeding the fire, the light in your eyes that glinted brighter for me than anyone else. Your perfect taste, salty and tangy and sweet all at once, like whatever nectar old gods might have drunk, if they were lucky enough to know you. But I was the fortunate, lucky, blessed one, to hear your sighs and your whimpers as I gently tried to savor you, fill myself with you. You tugged at the hand I had laid on your stomach, your eyes still closed and a beautiful smile on your face as you whispered, "Come to me, Seeley."

You gasped in relief as I entered you, my own exhalation joining yours as you took me in. I forced myself to go slowly, go gently, though the forceful need pounded through me as much as it ever did. I just kept replaying my head your _'you won't hurt me'_ as I slid back into you, you lifting your knees to take me in further as I tasted the skin of your breasts, the bud of your nipples. You were pushing, gently, as I returned to you, a flush of pink on your cheeks and your chest, a soft moan escaping you as I circled your clit with my fingers. You whimpered, a soft sound not of pain but of need, so I increased the speed of my fingers as you rocked your hips against mine. Softly, you sighed "Seeley," as you rippled and flooded around me, the look of peace on your face drawing my own from me, quiet, not hasty, complete.

"Still here," you whispered, pulling me down to rest my head on your heart.

"Still here," I said, listening hard, just to make sure.

- - -

We went to the Outpatient Surgery center this time, rather than the oncology suite. They were going to do the biopsies again under general anaesthesia, again because of the number of nodes, and were actually going to do the chemo there while you recovered from the anaesthesia. Delia did a pre-operative physical, and actually let me come in this time, as she clucked over your bruises and frowned as you recounted this morning's events.

I didn't know to be relieved or defensive when she scolded you. "You know you're not really in a condition where you should be ducking from gunfire on a regular basis, don't you? Or digging up bodies if someone's going to be shooting at you? Your immune system is compromised, and if you manage to only get grazed, and not shot, you could get an infection that could take off, even if normally you'd be fine. Even a splinter from the deck you hit this morning could cause trouble."

You smiled grimly at her joke, nodding before answering. "I know. I've already made arrangements to videoconference the digs, though there may be some where I'm going to have to go out, even if just to supervise. There are just some things Dr. Edison's not experienced enough to do, and videoconferencing won't substitute for some in-person observations and instruction. But I could get shot any time I go out, not just now, so while I agree I need to be careful, and am limiting my activities, I am not going to stop doing something that only I can do. That's as much as you'll get from me, I'm afraid."

Delia shook her head, then turned to me. "What do you think about this?" Great. Way to put me on the spot, Delia.

"I've always argued with Bones about what I think are the unreasonable risks that she takes, and I've never been happy about the level of danger our cases often involve. But Bones is right-- there are some things only she can do, and there are some things only the two of us can do. Within those constraints, she is being careful, and she is putting up with everyone's efforts to make her take it easy. And either one of us could get taken out any day, for no reason, whether she's healthy or not."

You nodded. "Booth _still_ argues with me about this. And we'll always argue about it, as long as I'm involved in fieldwork. But that's our decision, Delia, not yours, though what you have to say does have a bearing on what we decide."

"Well, then there's nothing else to say except you're crazy, and that I wouldn't want anyone else there looking out for my loved ones. Let's get you prepped, alright?"

- - -

The anaesthesiologist came and clucked some more about all of your bruises, and insisted on putting in a clavicular line, despite the fact that those hurt like a bitch going in even when there is a layer of fat and muscle under the skin. Your eyes watered, but you didn't flinch. It was supposed to take as much as a half-hour for it to kick in, but you were out in fifteen minutes, and they shooed me back out to the waiting area until they were done and you could go to the recovery area. I'd brought some files, but if I read those things one more time I was going to punch the wall, so I flipped through the newest statements Bob had sent us, including the first month's interest statement on the new fund we'd set up, and Alan's draft prospectus. I hadn't done anything to follow up on it, even though we'd discussed who to call, (although at least I wrote down the numbers) and the lab's Gala/fundraiser, assuming you were up to attending, was the weekend after Thanksgiving-- next week. Time flies when you're not having fun, chasing murderers and watching the love of your life get sicker and sicker. But if I was going to get the ball rolling on this and start hitting up Congressmen, I'd better get started, and I'd have at least an hour before you were out. And then the NCJA thing was the week afterward, and I bet there were some people there who might be interested. Lots of burnt-out vets end up as cops. I let the receptionist know I was going out in the hall, and sat down with the notebook I'd started, empty except for the first page, listing those numbers.

Buck up, Seeley boy, it's for all the maybes and didn't-make-its out there. I picked up the phone and dialed.

"Colonel Foster please, Seeley Booth calling."

"Sergeant, how are you?" I wish he'd just call me Booth. I'm done with that-- well, mostly. I suppose I should put up with it if I'm going to start trying to get people to throw their weight around. I hate politics, I really do, but sometimes, I guess, the larger goals are worth all the bullshit in the middle.

"Fine, sir, thank you."

"You're not calling on that case, are you? Your team sent over all their reports for the tribunal already, everything looks in perfect order."

"No, sir, I'm not. I was wondering if you'd have time to have lunch for an hour with me sometime tomorrow, or Friday? I wanted to discuss a project that you might be able to advise me on."

"I hardly think there's anything you could learn from me at this point, Booth."

"Well, it's more that I'd like your opinion on the VA's and the DOD's reaction to a proposed public/private joint venture to better fund the mental health and addictions counseling centers at the regional hospitals."

"Go on. How much Congressional funding would the proposal entail?"

"None, at least in the first five years, sir. The goal would be for the private arm to supplement the budget, and if the project succeeds in reducing relapse and other negative effects, then at that point, the hope is that Congress would increase the funding."

"How's 12:30 tomorrow?"

"That would be fine. Should I come out to the base?"

"No. I'm actually going to be at DOD for a meeting until 12, so let's meet someplace nearby."

"Thank you, sir. I actually know a place, WF2, where we can have a back booth and talk without interruption."

"I've heard of it. Twelfth Street, Northwest, correct?"

"Yes. Number 2B."

"Well, I have your number, I'll call if I get tied up. See you tomorrow, Booth."

"Thank you, sir, see you then."

I couldn't believe it had been that easy. I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you said my '_natural_ _authority and integrity_' would interest people in getting involved. I'm still getting over the fact you actually married me. Well, maybe beginner's luck means something for me again.

"Hello, Ryan Kettering please. Seeley Booth calling."

"Booth! How are you, you bastard?"

"Kettering-- not bad. How are you?"

"Fine, but what's a straightshooting FBI man doing calling a bleeding heart lobbyist like me?"

"Don't you start with that, man. You know me better."

"I know. Sorry. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well, David and Mark and Steven and I got together recently, and were talking about the bad old days. Well, actually, let me back up. I got married, and my wife's bleeding heart is rubbing off on me. So anyway, we were thinking about those shit shrinks they fobbed us off on, and..."

"Tell me about it. They just booted me on a medical, rather than fix what they'd broken when I wasn't even supposed to be in a combat area." He still sounded pissed. Good, this was good.

"Well, I'm meeting with Foster tomorrow about doing something about that level of care, and I think your annoying dog-with-a-bone attitude might be useful to push along any other recalcitrant parties."

"I'm in. Tell me more..."

- - -

Bones, everyone said they were interested, wanted to know more, wanted to have lunch, or for me to send them the information. The guys were going to be really excited. Hell, I was starting to be really excited. You're always right. Just punch me the next time I argue with you, alright?

- - -

"Hey, sleepy, how do you feel?"

"Disgusting. I'm sore, I'm dizzy, I hate anaesthesia, and I'm whining. I hate whining. Remind me to ask Jack to help invent a non-nauseating, non-dehydrating, nothing but puppies and rainbows and unicorns anaesthesia when we get home, okay? And why's the light so damned bright? See? Whining?"

"Poor cranky Bones. You know, it would help if you opened your eyes before you bitched about the overheads." I cracked an eye. You were looking happy, which was a nice change from your recent range of facial expressions-- furious, serious, doleful, and blank. Well, it was good to see you smiling, even if you were being a pain in the ass.

"Okay, I'm looking, and the light's still too damned bright. When can we go?"

"You've got two more hours on the drip, Delia will be back around in an hour."

"Fine." The lights really did hurt, so I closed my eyes again. I hate anaesthesia. But I should try not to be so grumpy. "What's got you so happy, husband?" I cracked an eye again. Oh, there it is. Half a goofy smile.

"I called Colonel Foster-- we're having lunch tomorrow. And Ryan, that chaplain in my unit I told you about? He's going to call a few other people for us."

Oh, Booth, I'm so glad. I didn't think they'd be anything but receptive, but I wasn't going to push you on this one, since there'd be no point in my doing it on my own-- I could never convince anyone I had any relevant experience. They'd just accuse me of being a critic without evidence, and that wouldn't solve anything. But if you really wanted to do it? I think we could cut your list in half twice as fast-- all the maybes out there deserved a tip of the scales toward yes, and not no.

- - -

"Bones, hey, time to wake up. They need to take the needle out." Your hand was holding mine, tugging a little to make me wake up. You still looked pretty pleased, and I was at least not feeling dizzy, though I was going to feel sore for the rest of the week. I shifted up a bit, and cracked an eye so I could give the nurse the nod. Damnit, that hurt as much coming out as it did going in. I really hate anaesthesia. And anaesthesiologists. He couldn't have done it in the abdomen? I mean, it's November, I'm not going to be wearing any bikinis soon. I'm going to need a turtleneck floor length gown for the Gala next week, at this rate. Maybe one of my necklaces will be big enough to cover the inevitable bruise. She hustled off, and Delia came over.

"Temperance-- everything went well, we'll have the cultures back Friday, at the latest. How do you feel?"

"Like going back to school for anaesthesiology and coming up with something better than what they keep giving me." Oh, I love it when she laughs when I'm being sarcastic. Although it might not take that long, actually, I've already got most of the medical training. Well, right after law school. I'm going to get that defense attorney for talking about you that way.

"Well, I won't disagree, but sit up for me and tell me how the muscle aches are."

I did, and didn't get a head rush, although after basically being knocked out for four hours, I expected I wouldn't feel too poorly. "Alright, so far. Not too bad."

"Do you want something to take for it?"

"Not if it's going to make me sleepy, no. I'll call if I change my mind."

She grimaced, looked over the insertion point one more, and patted my hand. "What are you two doing for Thanksgiving? We'll be closed, you know-- you'll have to shift to Monday or Friday."

I looked at you. We honestly hadn't thought about it-- we'd been so busy with the case, and the not getting shot thing, that it just hadn't come up. You responded.

"You know, we're not sure yet. But Bones, maybe we'll do Monday through Wednesday?"

"Fine with me." The University would be closed from Monday onward, but I wondered what we would do, since we weren't going to have Parker, Rebecca and Brent were taking him home to her parents', which was hard to complain about, since we would have him for Christmas.

Delia nodded and was off, drawing the curtain so I could get dressed. You came around and undid the ties on the stupid, cold, ugly hospital gown, so I could slip it off and get dressed again. Remind me to ask Natalia to come up with something we can market to hospitals so their patients aren't naked and freezing any more? Even the name, 'johnny' is ugly and stupid. Boy, I'm just full of piss and vinegar today.

"Here, hand me my top, please?" I was now really thankful Angela had bought me so many cashmere sweaters, and that I'd gone on a silk underwear binge last spring, because anything else scratched too much at my chest, ankles and waist, and hurt, like I'd been beaten with a rubber hose-- no bruises, just pain like the worst flu of your life. Regular pants weren't too bad as long as I could wear something soft under the waistband, but I wondered how many patients who felt the same way I did didn't have the resources or friends to take care of it. What used to be a luxury was now a necessity, at least if I was going to leave the house. You'd been putting my socks on for me while I'd been grumbling to myself as I put my top on-- well, your socks, really, because I don't have a month's worth of loud cashmere socks like you do. I'll have to visit Vincenzo, or call him, and get you some more. I was going through your selection a lot quicker.

You know what else I hate? Hospital beds are always an inch too high off the ground, even when you lower the damned things all the way. I'm not even short, by any objective standard, but I'd be damned if I could hop off the thing without needing to hold onto the edge. I'm hiring an ergonomics expert when this is over to design better hospital beds, including double-wide ones, to go with Natalia's new and improved johnnies.

"Ready for pants?"

I couldn't help it, I laughed out loud. "That sounds like some bad high school rock band name." You snorted, even as you'd already bunched them around my ankles so you could pull them up when I stood. Maybe I should practice getting dressed lying down. It's not the pulling on and off, it's the headrush while I'm doing it. If I'm lying down, though, there's no change in elevation, and then there's only the final getting up part, so only one head rush to deal with. Why the hell didn't I think of that earlier? "Okay," I said, sliding off the edge of the bed while you reached out to steady me, until I could get my hand on the railing until I got my bearings.

"All set?" I nodded, having managed to get everything buttoned and no head rush. It's amazing how your daily priorities shift-- not getting shot, and no head rush. Nothing like minimal expectations. You handed me my coat, and I got it on, checking the .22 in the pocket, then you grabbed my bag and slung it over your shoulder with your own.

"I'm going to have to get a manlier purse so you don't get made fun of for carrying my bag all the time."

"I kind of like red fringed suede. Although the green patent leather one goes better with my eyes, don't you think? I mean, honestly Bones, why do you need two dozen handbags, especially when you only use three of them most of the time?"

"Handbags and shoes always fit. Ask any woman, she'll tell you the same. Plus? You can stare at your car for hours, and I like the array of colors and styles. There's a deep-seated anthropological need among most societies to collect objects with little objective social value, but which reflect the collector's desire to display affluence, and therefore material security, to himself and to others, in order to..."

"Glad you're feeling better, sweetheart."

- - -

"Booth, T.B., hey. You want a booth?"

You nodded, and the two of you did your own little '_Ranger mind reading thing_' as you both scanned the room for the one with the best view of the room, furthest from the window. Of course, you two didn't always agree, and I wanted to not stand here all day, so I made a decision and headed to a booth that you guys were paying less attention to.

"Hey, Bones! Where are you going?"

"That one," I pointed. You two looked at it, your expressions changing to ones of surprise. "It's closest to the bar for taking cover, not near any windows, and there's a view of the front door from that mirror over there. And? Not too far from the bathroom."

Sid shook his head and laughed. "Yes, ma'am."

You caught up with me, but I'd already gotten myself into the booth, though I let you have the side with the best view of the front door. "Bones, next thing I know you're going to be telling me all the parts of a hand grenade."

"Fragmentation, stun, or incendiary?"

"Expertise thief."

"Knowledge-hog."

"Job-stealer."

"Elitist."

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

"You kids are so cute," Sid chuckled, as he set down a bowl of matzo ball soup for me, with a blueberry shake, and a pulled pork sandwich with french fries, coleslaw, and a root beer for you. Well, at least someone wasn't sick of us already. I took a spoonful of the delicious chicken broth, and admired the perfectly cut rounds of leeks and carrots floating in the broth with the tiny little floating matzo balls.

"Mmm. Sidney, so good." So nice to not be eating peanut butter. I wonder what he'll bring for dessert?

"Oooh, Sidney, candied ginger pannacotta!"

"Sid! Sweet potato pie with the little toasted marshmallows on top. I mean, Sid!"

- - -

"Booth. What do you want to do for Thanksgiving?"

"I don't know. I usually end up having to work." You were looking thoughtful as I drove.

"We could call your parents..." Bones, really? I haven't been home for Thanksgiving in five years, and my mom makes this stuffing that's out of this world, and a pumpkin pie that's just... wow. And maybe you can make those new caramel toffee pudding things. And chocolate pudding. Oooh, I do love your pudding. That sounded kind of dirty, but well, I suppose pudding on a plate of Bones is kind of dirty, and wouldn't really fly on my parents' kitchen table… But, Philadelphia's practically a three hour drive, we'd have to stay overnight at least one night, and then you'd be far from the doctor's in case you started not feeling well, and my parent's house is all stairs to the bathroom and bedroom, although wait, I think they put in a half-bath on the ground floor, Mom said something about that, but still, and I don't know what you're going to eat, I don't want you eating cheese sticks and apples while every else is having turkey, not that you would have eaten turkey anyway, but...

"There's an Eagles game on Friday, we could try to get you and your father and brother tickets." Bones, really, that would be awesome. I mean, really. They're not the Steelers, but football and Thanksgiving, oh, yeah. But that would mean I'd have to leave you alone with my mother, who really loves you but I'm not so sure if it's a good idea if you need help while I'm out, although you'll swat me if I say it out loud and you are being better about taking it easy, but the Gala's on Saturday, which means we'd have to drive back either Friday night or early on Saturday so you'd have time for a nap beforehand, and the traffic on Friday night will probably be bad, and...

"Are you going to just sit there thinking of reasons not to go, or are you going to discuss them with me, Seeley?"

I looked over, but you were just looking amused. "Sorry."

You patted my hand, and shot me the '_I love you, worrywart husband_' look. Heh, you look-said husband. Heh.

"We should go, if they're not busy. They'll be happy to see you, it'll be a nice change of scenery, and if Jared gets too obnoxious, I'll EDG him."

"Yes, Bones."

You smirked. "Temperance knows best. Even if your mother is a shameless flirt who will probably chase me around the house trying to make me kiss her." Without further ado, you picked your phone out of the well between the seats and dialed.

"Caroline, hi, it's Temperance. Oh, we're fine, thank you, just on our way back to the house. No, nothing yet, the end of the week before I hear anything back. Seeley and I were wondering, though... oh, you were? Well, great minds think alike, then. No, we'd love to stay with you if you have room. We do have a work function Saturday night that we have to attend, but we wouldn't have to leave until early that morning, and I would love if you showed me the city while we get the three of them tickets so they can observe their war-mongering spectacle on Friday. Oh, no, I agree. Not during dinner."

Wait, did you and my Mom just agree we're not allowed to watch the game during dinner? Bones, we always watch the game during dinner! Okay, we always put a TV out in the garage and sneak out "to the bathroom" during dinner, but still. Damn, if you and my Mom are both going to insist, the Mom and Bones EDG combo will definitely win. Stop zoning out Seeley, pay attention to what else they're plotting.

"That would be lovely. I don't know if we'll leave Wednesday night or not, perhaps it would be better to see how next week goes? Great. Well, then, we'll talk with you soon. I will." You shot me a smirk as you closed the phone. "That's settled, we'll order tickets when we get home."

"I love you, wife." Wait, was that a silly little smile at the edge of your mouth? It was. That's so cool.

"I love you, husband." Heh. Husband, because we're married, and you're my _wife_. Heh.


	46. Chapter 46

46.

I'd picked one of the last of the daisies in the gardens at work the next morning, both of us mazed at this morning's out-of-nowhere breeze tossed the petals into a whirlwind around both our heads before carrying them up and away. The gardeners were bringing out wheelbarrows of potted chrysanthemums and late-blooming marigolds as we headed back in, for the last round of plantings before December's sleet and rain and occasional snow made hibernation, not growth, a necessity. I pretended not to notice Paul Rodgers standing with a rifle and a good view of the gardens from the roof of the parking structure as he pretended not to see us.

Flat surfaces still were not beyond me, at least with your hand at me back and my elbow, but I'm glad the walkways in the garden are even and gravel, rather than stone-paved. Everyone once again ignored us as they came back in-- it's amazing how friendship allows for privacy in a lab full of people who know perfectly well that you're there-- how lucky we are, that they're there, and make sure that we know they are, but let us take the time to acknowledge the rest of the world before life starts moving again.

We'd stopped coming into my office first, both because the cooler air made taking our coats off unwise, as well as because we wanted to let Angela have time to arrange whatever surprise she would leave in my office for when we got in-- whether it was another painting, or a vase of flowers, or an apple for me and a croissant for you, or another shake from Sid's for me and a large coffee for you, fixed the way you take it.

This morning, it was "_Four_," leaning up against the couch. Set inside a platinum-colored frame, on a scotch-amber background, inside a bloody red-pink-gold outline framing the whole, were the four of us, seated, hands clasped as we drank our family communion. If you hadn't been there, you wouldn't have known what was happening-- but the four figures' hands and heads were turned toward the middle, where an orb both gold as sunlight through scotch and red as hearts' blood also captured the individual lights contained in each figure, transformed into something both breathtaking and yet strengthening. Just as our figures were distinct and yet shared the same light, she'd painted her own and Jack's-- you could tell who was who, though as always, there was nothing so simple as faces and features. Like the two of us, she had captured the way they two were themselves, and yet more, separate but at the same time together, their own lights blending into something that encompassed them both. They were them, and we were us, though she'd painted our light slightly brighter, our lines just a touch more distinct.

Though the figures' light, and the amber-gold and pink-red were the primary colors, the primary focus, there were underpainted outlines in the amber-gold area inside the red-pink-gold border, casting the figures into relief against a floating background of love and faith, friendship and strength. There were dark brown oak leaves for strength, evergreen, fan-shaped arborvitae for everlasting friendship, white multi-petalled camellias, for unpretending excellence, tiny white and pink-tinted five-petalled pear blossoms, again for lasting friendship, white iris for faith, tender green feathered fronds of fennel, again for strength, and yellow rose petals, floating, for platonic love.

"All those things, all that meaning, all that feeling, and yet not one thing too much, nor anything lacking," I said. You'd been standing behind me, holding me against your chest with your hands around my waist, as we took it in.

"There's never anything lacking, with them," you murmured in my ear. I was so glad to hear you say it, though I knew that you loved them dearly enough to let them love you too, to let them help. They've been such good friends to us, and I hoped in time we'd be able to return all the support they'd so unstintingly given to us. "You should hang this here," you continued.

"We could put it in your office," I offered.

You shook your head, your arms still around me, your motion making both of us shift back and forth a bit. "No-- this is where we all started to become friends and more. It should stay here, so people can see it where it all began. My office is just a waystation. My heart, my love, my best friends are here."

Oh, Booth. I pulled your arms around my waist tighter as tears pooled in my eyes and ran down my face, even as I smiled with the force of our friends' love. You know I've been worried about you, what might happen if I have to leave you alone. I know that if I had to be without you, I would eventually wear down under the force of my own broken heart, but the joy we'd had despite everything would make it possible to go on just a little while, to stay and say goodbye to friends who I'd loved and who'd loved in return, to finish taking care of the people and things I'd tried to take care of. I'd worried that it would be too much for you to do the same, but as strong as you already were, the strongest man in the world, you'd become even more so when you decided to let others help us, and I'd begun to worry less about what might happen if I have to leave. My heart eased a bit, knowing we had friends you would let help, as much as they could, if I lost this. Bittersweet it might be, but loss tempered with sweetness inside the harsh bitterness of failure is better than the alternative.

You stepped back to turn me to face you, the same smile on your face and tears in your eyes and on your cheeks. I wrapped my arms around your neck to pull up to kiss you, as you met me halfway, your lips soft, your tongue seeking, our kiss sharing. When we broke apart, I brushed the wetness from your cheeks with my hand as you did from mine, both of us sniffling and laughing at the same time. Leaning your forehead against mine, you looked into mine, eyes twinkling, before murmuring, "Crime-fighting duo temporarily derailed by sentimental maundering, film at 11."

A chuckle escaped me. "Well, at least they're as sappy as we are." You kissed my nose, then released your hands from around my waist as you went to my desk to pull some tissues from the box, blowing your nose and handing me some.

"We need to buy stock in the major tissue manufacturers," you mumbled as your blew your nose again and laughed as I honked into my tissue. "Way to be delicate and lady-like, Bones."

"Says the man who snores like an untuned diesel engine." You snorted.

"I thought it was an orangutan."

"No, you're still at warthog decibels. Keep working on it, maybe one day you won't come home to find me serving meatloaf and pudding to Cary Elwes and Richard Dean Anderson."

You barked out a laugh. "Not the pudding! You can give them meatloaf, but Bones, please, don't go giving your pudding away!"

I smiled back at you. "No, don't worry. My pudding's all for you, Seeley."

Your eyes deepened, and you kissed me, lustily, before laughing and saying, "Enough about your pudding, or we'll have to go home. Let me go get a hammer and we'll put this up. Where do you want it?"

I turned and surveyed the room, then pointed to the wall next to the bookcase opposite my desk. "There-- move that mummy's sarcophagus into the corner next to the Quianling stele, I'll decide if I want to move it somewhere else later."

"Bones, you realize that even when we start the construction upstairs, there isn't going to be room for every single piece of anthropological art and funerary furbelow you own into the house, right? My stuff has to go somewhere, and all your artistic representations of life and death are enough to fill a small gallery. Well, more like medium-sized."

"I know. Some of these things here are actually the museum's, from storage, so they don't mind if I keep it in here. It can always go back down to storage and I can put the more morbid pieces here."

You smiled. "Not morbid, precisely, but maybe the stuff I don't want to explain to Parker in painstaking detail quite yet? Trying to explain why you've got a ceremonial short sword for hari-kiri hanging over the bathtub? Not so fun before he's at least twelve."

"You're so picky."

I went over to my desk, got out a measuring tape and a pencil, and handed you the tape. After measuring the width, "same as the others," you said, you went to mark the endpoints on the wall so I could decide how high I wanted to hang it. "So the central orb is eye-level," you suggested.

"Quite an eye, there, Seeley, m'boy," I laughed then marked the point on the wall. I went back to my desk and settled on my stool to pull up some files on the computer while you went out into the lab, yelling, "Hodgins, you pain in the ass, bring me a hammer, and help me put this weighs-a-ton-painting up!" Angela's laugh floated across the lab, as I heard Hodgins laugh and call out, "What, you're not alpha-male enough to hang an eleven-by-seven two hundred pound mahogany frame and painting all by yourself?"

"Can it, alpha-and-a-half, and get me that hammer," you yelled, Angela's laugh again lightening the air. Alpha-and-a-half, eh? Your comment had the desired effect, as Jack preceded you back through the doorway, grinning like a sixteen-year-old after his first kiss, his chest puffed out and eyes twinkling.

"Good morning, sister Temperance," he smiled, coming over to kiss my cheek.

"Good day, brother Jack," I replied. "How the heck do you get these in here, anyway?"

He smiled. "Anything's possible with Jenkins." Jenkins. Of course.

The two of you hung the painting, standing back and doing the men-pretending-to-be-handy thing (Bones! I fixed the disposal, what are you talking about, pretending?!) as your stroked your chins and looked critically at all the angles to make sure it was straight. My phone rang as I watched the two of you being typical boys (Again! Bones! I don't make fun of you when you or Angela go all squealy over each other's outfits, so knock it off!), so I picked up with laughter in my voice.

"Temperance Booth-Brennan," I said, your chest puffing out as you heard me use our last name, like you do every time. Most people still called us by the names we'd always used, professionally, but we'd both changed our names legally, and I had made plans for the next Kathy & Andy to be published under our married name, which was more of a pain than I'd thought, because publicity was complaining about re-doing the promotional materials they tended to use for every book. Ah, well. If they wanted to get paid, they'd deal with it.

"Pumpkin, hi, it's Dad."

"Hi, Daddy." Yes, Booth, I know, I'm thirty, but he likes it when I call him Daddy. Lay off. I mean, I let you get away with baby.

"Just calling to say I'll be there around twelve if you have time to go to lunch beforehand."

"That would be nice, and I think I will."

"Good, if you have any errands to run, we'll probably have some time to do them, too."

"Thanks. I'll see you then, drive safely."

"Will do, see you soon."

I hung up as the two of you satisfied yourself that only an earthquake would dislodge the frame from the wall, then clapped each other on the shoulder before Jack headed back out with a wink. As you came back over to stand next to me as I sat on my stool, I said "It's nine, you'd better get going."

"What time is your dad coming by?"

"Twelve. We'll get some lunch, and I might have some errands to do, so we'll do those beforehand."

"Well, call me when you get there and when you leave, okay?"

"Okay," I said, lifting my face for a kiss. "Have a good lunch with the Colonel." You smiled and bent to give me a kiss, then dropped another on my forehead before heading out.

- - -

I looked through a few more of the files, then turned my attention to the particulate data results and images Jack and I had collected from the five Fratelli bodies that had accumulated so far. There was something vaguely anomalous about the isotopic distribution on the third body's mass spec analysis, though I had to look three times between the different results before I saw it clearly-- it was only a matter of two units on the vertical axis, midway along the horizontal distribution.

"Jack!" I called. "I think I found something!"

He hustled back in, coming to stand behind me as I pointed at the screen, and increased the magnification for him. "There," I pointed, indicating the anomaly with the tip of a pen. "Yes," he breathed. "That's it. You want to go take a look, oh Queen of the Lab?" His eyes twinkling, he straightened and offered me his arm in so gallant a gesture that it transformed a necessary gesture into a purely chivalrous one.

"Lead on, Sir Jack," I laughed, letting him put one arm in the middle of my back as I pulled on his arm to get myself standing, then walked with him out the door and across the lab. Cam stuck her head out as we passed her office, and trailed in after us as we went into the side lab and Jack pulled out the samples again from which the results were obtained.

"Please, tell me you have something," she sighed, her expression wistful. She was as tired of this case dragging on as we were, and had the added pressure of having to report to the board why we weren't working on Institute rather than Bureau business, when the case had already dragged on for almost a month.

Jack smiled, and said "A two microgram differential in the sedimentary analysis that Dr. B. just spotted. We're taking another look right now, maybe we'll run some more samples once we take another look."

Cam's '_the hunt's back on_' look flashed across her face. "I've got nothing better to do at the moment, you just tell me where you want them from and Anne and Clark and I will start scraping."

I'd been lifting the samples up to the overhead light, squinting (see, I admit it, it's squinting) at them to see how they might be different, to account for the anomaly, and saw it. "Here," I said, waving the slide in the air. Cam and Jack came to stand behind me as I held up two of the samples, and he and Cam picked up the other three. Squinting, Jack exhaled. "Those two samples have a two-millimeter thicker sample depth. Excellent."

Cam nodded, a deep smile of satisfaction on her face. She carried her samples over to my microscope, as Jack did, laying them down while I walked over and sat.

"Squint on, Grace, we'll start scraping." Without further ado, she and Jack headed out into the lab, Cam calling, "Clark, get some scalpels, Anne, bring some swabs and tubes!"

So nice to have something to do, I reflected, as I slid the two anomalous samples under the scope, then dialed the controls to ensure I had the split screen option to allow me to ensure that the difference was not due just to an instrument error. Ah, yes, I was right, there it was, a trace that seemed to be consistent with ...

"Dr. Double-B."

"Mmmm. Just a second." I dialed the resolution up on the new samples, looked further, then switched one out for one of the original anomalies. "Jack, here, that's it. We've got it. What is that?" I sat back from the microscope, pushing back so he could step in front and take a look. He laughed.

"That, my dear Dr. Booth-Brennan, is a PCB whose molecular structure is a derivative of a common marine coolant, and which, I believe, we will find emanated from the Washington Navy Yard, since that particular variant is used in military applications. I'll start running the molecular profiles so we can be sure. Nice eye, Double-B!"

He smiled as he turned to me, and I smiled back, in relief. Finally, something that might give us a new place to look. I shrugged my shoulders, then stretched out my arms before cracking my knuckles. "Well, I'm glad you know what it is... I can't be bothered to keep up with all those new-fangled compounds," I drawled, putting on my best '_cranky old woman_,' voice. Really-- I'm current enough in the science to help find potentially significant differences, but it would take me days to form conclusions and make specific identifications that took Jack less than an hour. He had far more instinctive understanding of his subject than I did-- my affinity has been and always will be bodies, not earthly matter.

He laughed, then extended his arm. "Want a snack? I think this calls for some celebratory apple slices and peanut butter," he continued. He's so charming, and light, about all of this.

"Lead on to the feast, Sir Jack," I replied, as I let him pull me up and head us off to Angela's office.

- - -

"Cheers," Angela said, raising the apple slice she'd just dipped into the bowl of peanut butter, as Jack and I raised our own, mock-toasting like the kindergarten food I'd mostly been reduced to was fine champagne.

"You know, I'm hurt not to be included in snacktime," said Clark from the doorway, "especially since I had all this two-year Grafton cheddar in the fridge I was going to share, and some pear juice my mom keeps sending me from the orchard at the farm." Oh, Clark.

I gave him my best '_sorry, I thought it would depress everyone too much to eat baby food with me_' smile, and ventured an only slightly choked "Well, my dad always said to bring enough to share with the rest of the class," as I picked up another apple and cut it into slices. He grinned and ducked back out the door as Angela and I scooted over on the couch to make room, Angela pulling me back to sit between her legs, my feet curled up on the couch under me. Clark came back in with the cheese and a bottle of juice and some cups and set them down on the table before sitting next to me. He handed me the bottle to pour as he cut wedges of cheese from the brick he'd unwrapped, and passed them around. We munched our way through the snack as Clark described his plans to bring Amelia home for Thanksgiving to his family's farm in South Carolina.

"She's from Brooklyn, says she's never even seen a horse, much less ridden one before, can you believe it?"

"Do you ride Western or English at your place?" I asked, curious. It had been a while since I'd gotten a chance to go riding.

"Both, actually," he smiled. "I didn't know you rode, T."

"Oh, I haven't in years, but I cleaned stalls at Northwestern's equestrian center in exchange for riding lessons."

Angela smiled. "Bren's being modest. She was the Division's all-around Jumping champion her junior and senior years, and was the Dressage champion, too. She had half the horses in the barn eating out of her hand, literally and figuratively."

Clark grinned. "Well, you and Dropout should come down, maybe when it's warmer in the spring. Hunting season's over, but we have Irish Hunters and Dutch Warmbloods in addition to the draft horses, though they're mostly for cross-breeding rather than work, although sometimes we'll use them to pull stumps."

"I had no idea you were such a farm boy," said Jack.

Clark laughed before replying. "It's mostly orchard-- pears and apples in the fall, stone fruit earlier in the season. My folks have a few acres for corn, and pumpkins, and squash-- all that fall stuff that goes with the hay rides around the orchard, but most of the land is either orchard or fox-hunting type meadow for hay for the horses. We've got two stallions each of each breed." My goodness. Two breeding stallions for three breeds on one farm? It was hardly just a farm, then.

"Well, then, farm boy," I said, "you'll just have to host us all for a long weekend of hacking and al fresco picnics come apple-blossom time. We can all sleep in the hayloft." I finished. I hoped he would be able to make good on it, I though, as he smiled and agreed. He does have a sweet smile, Booth.

- - -

A light hand was shaking my shoulder. "Hey, Pumpkin." said my Dad's voice, softly. "Pumpkin?"

I cracked an eye. Where was I? Oh, Angela's couch. I must have fallen asleep during snacktime. How embarrassing-- I hope I didn't fall asleep with food in my hand, and drop anything. She'd tucked another cashmere throw over me-- did she pick them out for you, or did you pick them out for her?

"Hi, Dad," I mumbled, pulling my hand up as I shielded my eyes while I opened them. "Twelve already?"

He'd squatted down by the side of the couch. "Mmm-hmm. You want to sleep a bit more?"

"No, thanks. Just give me a few minutes, okay? Would you go get my bag and coat?" He smiled and stood, and left, as Angela came back over to sit beside me. "How long was I out?"

"Oh, just forty-five minutes, sweetie," she said, her hand on my back as I rolled from my back onto my side, so I could push myself up, her taking hold of my up-side arm as I pushed with the one under me. Slow is sure, no dizziness, good. She scooted back as I swung my legs off the couch, fumbling for my boots, which she must have pulled off after I'd fallen asleep. I sat back as she bent to pull them out from under the couch, then handed them to me so I could stick my legs out to pull them on.

"Nice socks," she smirked, taking in the orange, yellow, and red paisley cashmere socks I'd been wearing.

"They're Booth's," I replied. "Warmer, and pretty much everything else but silk scratches too much these days," I said, not looking at her as I finished putting my boots on.

"Mmm-- I noticed," she said. Of course she did. "I was actually going to call Natalia to see about having her make me something for the Gala," she continued. "Have you decided what you're going to wear?"

"I hadn't, actually," I said, shaking my head. "I was thinking maybe something to go with that dower necklace you helped Booth with, but I just don't have the energy to go shopping."

"Well, why don't you let me call Natalia and have her come in tomorrow morning? I can have her bring some swatches and check our measurements, maybe she can come up with something between now and then." _Our_ measurements? Oh, Ange. You weigh exactly the same-- you always do. You remember to eat, can eat whatever you want, can keep up with your dancing and all those walks you two take at the house. But it's nice that you're pretending.

"That would be nice," I replied, as my dad re-entered the room.

"Ready, pumpkin?" he asked, handing me my coat to put on while I was still seated, and shouldering my bag for me. "I got you the anthropology and materials engineering journals in your inbox for reading, is that okay?"

"That's great, dad, thanks." He was so solicitous. He'd taken to running errands for everyone around the lab when I wasn't ready to go yet, and bringing treats in for the team and Security. He wasn't Sid or Anamaria, but he always seemed to know when cookies or brownies or something else would be welcome, and I knew the others enjoyed chatting with him as he made his way around the offices, chiding '_you kids_' into '_stopping working so hard and having a bit of a break_.' He'd been really helpful at the barbecue, keeping the food bowls topped up and the alcohol and soda stocked. He was enjoying his tutoring, and he was doing some carpentry and electrical work on the side, but a lot of his time was empty, except when he was helping Russ and Amy with the girls. As a convicted felon, though, he couldn't get back into the unions, and no one would hire him, though the prison seemed glad of his teaching assistance to overlook his own history. Though I rued the reason why, I was glad he could feel helpful. Maybe we could have him work with the contractors once we finished passing papers on the unit upstairs? I mean, if he wasn't being paid by the contractor, was just helping out, then they wouldn't be in violation of union rules, right? He's such a people person, and everyone seems to love him, even the Bureau people-- I mean, he and Sam were singing all those classic rock songs at the wedding with you and your father and Steven and Sully. Talk about cops and robbers and strange bedfellows.

It was a shame that no one would overlook his record, when really, he just wanted to help, and be useful. Cam called him "our charming murderous lab Brownie," once when he'd dropped as sack of raspberry-fudge brownies on her desk.

He'd laughed out loud, and twinkled at her as he said, "Aye, the Fae Folk were not necessarily known for their pacifist nature-- they were always protective of what they called theirs."

He helped me up, holding on to my arms as I made sure I was steady, then tiptoed up to kiss him on his cheek, and then turned to smile at Ange, whose hand had been at my back, waiting, not pushing, as I stood. "See you later, Yente," I said, her laugh following us out as my dad tucked my hand under his arm and we headed for the garage.

He was telling me about the latest movie he and Maureen had rented, then asked me, "What do you want to do for lunch, honey?"

And then, I knew. "I have an idea, Dad, just let me make a call," I replied.

"Temperance, what are you up to?" he asked, a look of curiosity on his face.

"You'll see, Dad." I picked up my phone and dialed, mentally blowing on a dandelion as I waited for the phone to pick up on the other end of the line.

"Hello, it's Temperance. I was wondering, would you mind if my father and I stopped by for lunch? Oh, that would be lovely. We'll be there shortly."

I smiled up at my Dad as we reached his truck. "There's someone I want you to meet."

- - -

I woke to voices down the hall from the kitchen. My Dad must have brought me into the house and got me into bed, though I didn't remember falling asleep in the truck-- I'd been really sleepy this afternoon and had only made it through the first of two newly-published peer-review pieces confirming research and synthesis of the new polymer Jack and I had published in _Forensics Materials Science_. I rolled to my side. It sounded like the two of you were having a good conversation-- I could hear the two of you laughing quietly about something. Well, with neither of you hovering over me, I could try this whole getting up from a lying position thing on my own. Temperately, Temperance, I reminded myself, as I slowly pushed myself up. If I went too fast and fell, I'd never have a moment's peace to myself ever again, though I could hardly rue the imposition when it was rooted in love. Okay, sitting, fine. Let's see, scoot over to the side table, yes, that's steady enough to lean on, okay, here we go. Excellent. I'm up, and only self-imposed pushing and pulling involved. The pushing from in front of me thing seems to work, keeps my center of gravity better than pushing from behind. Ah, one more piece of invalid knowledge to file away in my ever-expanding store.

I kept close to the edge of the bed-- there was only about six feet between the end of the bed and the door, and I was sure I could cross that distance without needing to hold on to something. Hah. I was right. Excellent. Once I got out to the hallway, I trailed my hand against the wall, trying to just let my fingers touch the wall for balance, and tensing my buttocks so that I wouldn't have to lean. Excellent, again.

You looked up as I was about two feet short of the doorway, five seconds before my father heard my footsteps and turned to watch as I entered the room. You narrowed your eyes a little, but didn't say anything as I came into the room and pulled up a stool, hooking it with my foot as I leant forward onto the counter to push myself back onto the seat. Excellent, worked again. Righteous, as Sweets would say. Righteous, right? (Yes, Bones, Righteous.)

"Husband, father," I said, as you gave half your goofy grin again and my dad smiled. "What are you plotting, so quietly?"

My dad smiled. "Booth was just telling me that you two have Parker for Christmas, and I was telling him about this Christmas tree farm near Russ' house that has pony rides and hot doughnuts and cider for the kids."

"Maybe we can enact the first annual Booth-Brennan hewing of trees," you said, "it sounds like the kids would have a great time while we menfolk wrest sturdy evergreens from the ground with our bare hands."

"Bare hands, eh?" I smiled. "Just don't whine to me about splinters, afterward. Dad, you're sensible enough to bring a saw, just in case Booth's Plan B doesn't work?"

"Plan A, Pumpkin, A."

"Dad! Don't you start, too!" Okay. I knew it was Plan A. But you're all so earnest and cute when you try to correct me.

- - -

Your dad agreed to stay to share the chicken, spinach, and pesto lasagne Sid had handed me after lunch with the Colonel. While you were sleeping, Max told me about where you'd gone to eat lunch, and while I was a bit surprised, at the same time, I wasn't. Your dad's a good guy, everyone knows that, and if you give him the chance, he'll charm the pants right off you, clean and press them for you, and hand them back to you with a smile at the end of the night. You made really good headway through the lasagne, a whole cup and a half, as well as the apple-pear protein shake Sid'd blended up for you. I've got to ask Sid his secret, or just pick up some dinner for you from him more often, anything to break up the nine-food-monotony.

You scared the shit out of me when I saw you coming down the hallway, Bones, but I know that '_let me try it and if I fall on my ass then I won't do it again_' look, and you're right, but I still don't like the idea of watching you take a tumble just because your body's not keeping up with your brain these days. That front-ways hand-bracing thing is new, but it looks like it works--I'm glad you thought of it, if it helps you not have to lean on other people so much.

"What did Sidney send for dessert?" you asked.

"Well, pear-pomegranate molasses and cream cheese turnovers for me and your dad, though how he knew Max would stay for dinner I have no idea, and a passionfruit mousse with almond biscotti for you." I said, pulling them over from where I'd already set them out on the counter. "And he said to have some ginger tea," I added, shoving the box of herbal ginger and lemongrass tea he'd given me, saying '_this ought to cut a little of the wooziness_.' You looked at the box as I turned the kettle on, reading the stuff on the box talking about ayurvedic properties of ginger and all that healing hoo-ha the homeopathic freaks are always talking about. But whatever works, and it's just herbal tea. If you don't like it, or it doesn't sit well with you, you just won't drink it.

Your dad cleared the plates and pulled out more forks and a teacup for you. "Son, you want to split a pot of decaf with me?" he asked, as he rattled dishes in the sink.

"Sure, Max. Beans are in the freezer, there's a grinder right in the coffee maker, just fill it up."

"Ah, you two are coffee snobs, no Maxwell House for you, eh?"

As he got the bag out and shook the beans into the grinder, you laughed. "Dad, when you drink as much coffee as Booth and I do, there's no point in drinking only medium-grade stuff. Might as well do the whole shebang." Your eyes glinted. Yeah, Bones, shebang, that's right. You're so cute when you use colloquialisms correctly.

- - -

"You like that ginger tea, huh, Bones?" You nodded, as you reached over to the coffee table to pour another cup from the teapot's worth I'd made, after you sucked down that first cup like nobody's business. You don't have to tell me twice when there's something you can stomach.

"It's warming," you said, "and not nasty and gritty like so much herbal tea is. Good with the honey, too." I'm glad you tolerated the honey. Any chance to get some extra calories into you-- though Angela had texted me after you'd left to report that you four had had a good snack before you'd taken your nap, and then your dad had told me that you'd managed most of a grilled ham, cheese and apple sandwich and a glass of coffee-flavored milk at lunch.

I settled your legs again across my lap, and tucked the throw around your feet again as you handed me the book. "Where were we?"

"You finished '_The Uruk-Hai_,' you responded, taking another sip.

Right-- your first time hearing the book, and you already had the chapter titles memorized. "_Chapter Four. Treebeard. Meanwhile, the hobbits went with as much speed as the dark and tangled forest allowed..._"

- - -

Your head had nodded all the way back on to the arm of the couch as I read one of my favorite passages in the whole series. "'_Of course, it is likely enough, my friends,' he said slowly, 'likely enough that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later. That thought has long been growing in our hearts; and that is why we are marching now. It was not a hasty resolve. Now at least the last march of the Ents may be worth a song. Aye,' he sighed, 'we may help the other peoples before we pass away.'_"

It's true, I thought, as I got you undressed and settled into bed, pulling your thin, tired body to me. If we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway. Better to help others even if it's the last march. Did you know that now as I read this again, Treebeard sounds just like Daniel Goodman in my head? I'll have to ask him if he knows the books-- it'd be fun to hear him recite the '_Lore of Living Creatures_.' Of course, you'll have to ask him. No way am I admitting in public that I love these books, though, there are way too many people who claim to love them since those movies came out who don't really comprehend the interwoven themes of fidelity, bravery, and sacrifice that link together each of the story's many elements. Maybe I can tell him Parker would like it. Yeah, he likes Parker.


	47. Chapter 47

47.

I parked the car illegally again before your appointment. You don't want to get a handicapped sticker? Fine. I'm not parking a mile away from the front door, either, even if you're doing okay on flat surfaces. D.J. will get rid of any tickets if I call him, if his people don't already know which plates are mine. Most of the D.C. cops know the SAs' trucks, anyway.

You had your cranky and brave face on. We'd been at the lab all morning while Hodgins tried to further isolate the particular military PCB at issue, so I could call up the Commandant and lean on him, rather than go get a warrant that would tip off the Romanos and make them scurry back into their ratholes, and you'd conked out on your couch around 11:30, after you and Ange had spent a half hour in her office with your seamstress lady, and were pissed that I let you sleep all the way until it was time to go. Sorry, Bones. If you fall asleep, I'm not waking you up until your body tells you to, or I absolutely have to. And then you were cranky that I made you eat in the car, but I had Sid run that sandwich and shake over just for you, and you're not going in to treatment without lunch in your stomach. But I humored you when you grabbed the '_oh-shit-handle_' and the door frame and managed to slide down to the ground on your own, contenting myself to simply stand right in front of you so in case you toppled, you'd just crash into me. I wasn't going anywhere.

You smacked me on the chest as I looked down to make sure you weren't wobbly, glaring at me as you said "Onward, Booth."

"Yes, Drill-Sergeant Bones," I replied, stepping out of your way so you could hand me your bag and shut the door. You shrugged my hand off at your elbow but tolerated my usual hand at your back as we went in and I scanned the lot. I'd parked so we weren't in any usable sight lines-- the only way to get either one of us now would be a full frontal rush, and that just wasn't going to happen the way these bastards had been playing.

We made our way up to the suite, and Annie, looking up as we came in, said, "Oh, Dr. Brennan. Dr. Thornton wants to talk to you both, I'll call her." Damnit. Damn them. Damnitall. The pathology results must have already come back. She got off the phone, and then looked back up-- whatever it was, she didn't know, she was her usual sweet and clueless self. "She said you can go on back."

I could walk down this damned hallway blind and hobbled and still find my way to her office. You could too, by the way you were looking everywhere but in front of you as you trailed your hand along the wall, ignoring the fact that I was already there to steady you. My poor Bones.

Delia's door was closed, so I knocked and she opened it, her eyes and nose bright red from crying. I'd be foolish if I hoped she'd gotten some bad news of her own, or was just reading some sad romance novel. She held the door open silently as you stiffened and walked in, then let me take your hand as you lowered yourself to sit in the chair. I shut the door, and went to stand behind you, one hand at your shoulder as you leant your head against my leg and reached up to hold my other hand in a grip tighter than I'd have bet you had the strength for. Delia sat and turned to her printer, and took off whatever had just come off the printer. With a shaking hand, she handed it to you, and you took it, the hand not in mine steady, and the hand in mine starting to cut off my circulation. I bent a little to read over your shoulder-- I'd already braced myself for the mule-kick I would feel when I read the results.

"So, do I start the next course on the tail-end of next week's session? Do we need to increase the frequency? How do you suggest we change the cocktail? Should I we consider a steroid course?" Oh, Temperance. Nothing like asking Delia a bunch of scientific questions to let her regain her own composure. Delia inhaled and squared her shoulders, and got back to work.

Sometimes, it's all you can do.

- - -

Delia'd given us a private room with one of those chaise-lounge things today, and you'd stiff-upper-lipped it all the way through the rest of the meeting with Delia and Celia's getting you prepped, and then as I got up to shut the door and pull the curtain across the window after Celia'd left. You were just staring at the needle in your wrist, resolutely not meeting my eye. Oh, Bones.

I took off my jacket and tie, tossing them over the back of the other chair with the rest of our stuff, and came to sit behind you, pushing you forward until I could get all the way in behind you and pull you back up against me between my legs. I wrapped my arms around you just as you turned and buried your head in my chest, your arms wrapping around my waist, again squeezing me with a fierce grip that belied your pale skin and small body. I brought one hand up to stroke your hair, as you mumbled "I wanted it to work," into my chest, your breath and face scalding hot against the cold that had gripped me as soon as Delia opened her door.

"I know, Bones. I did too." You didn't say anything more, so I just held you while the front of my shirt got wetter and wetter, and then held you some more as you silently cried yourself out, and fell asleep, exhausted.

I wanted it to work, too, sweetheart, more than anything.

- - -

After an hour, your grip loosened around my waist, and I shifted you so you were lying a little flatter against me, your arm stealing back around my waist after I settled you further down my chest. You didn't wake, just slept on, your face tired and drained, even deep sleep not relaxing that line between your eyebrows you get when you're upset. My poor Bones. I felt the cold gripping my gut loosen a little as I watched you sleep, knowing at least that you still turned to me, still held on to me despite everything, and sent up a prayer that I could keep giving you "_A place to stand and love in for a day/ With darkness and the death-hour rounding it_."

You settled a little more as I stroked your hair back from your face, exhaling a long sigh and turning your face more firmly against my chest. My sweetheart. I pulled out my phone, and started texting.

- - -

You were bent over, kissing my forehead as your hand rubbed my back a little. "Temperance, love, time to go," you were saying, your voice soft as your hand increased the speed and pressure of its circles on my skin. I was confused for a moment as I came back to myself-- I must have fallen asleep, but I wasn't feeling any better for what some people would call '_a good cry_.' I know that crying is supposed to trigger stress-releasing endorphins, but it doesn't always. Sometimes it just leaves you feeling dried up, ready to blow away like an old autumn leaf on the first light breeze. Like now. I moved my hand a little-- I'd slept through Celia coming in to take it out, I guess.

I patted my hand once on your chest where I'd come to rest, just to let you know I'd heard you. I wasn't quite ready to open my eyes to the world yet. Your hand moved up to my hair, tangling in the strands, your thumb running up and down the nape of my neck as your fingers pressed gently into the skin of my scalp, rubbing, soothing, gently circling as I took some deep breaths. "Come on, sweetheart, up we go," you said, sitting forward and pulling me up with you until I was sitting upright. You pulled your arms around my waist, then, snugging me to you and placing a kiss on the top of my head. I pulled up a little further to swing my legs back to the floor, and push my tangled hair back from my face. "I've got it," you said, pulling my bag over and getting my hairbrush out, then sitting behind me to run the brush through my hair gently until you'd gathered it all back into a ponytail at the nape of my neck, no stray hairs untended.

"You should have daughters to do that for," I said. "_We_ should have daughters you do that for," I said, trying aloud for the first time the words I'd been thinking about inside for a while. "I should give us some daughters you can do that for, when this is over." Your hand at my back twitched.

"Temperance, really?"

"If I can, when our list is done, yes."

Your voice, deep and husky with emotion, responded. "That's right. That would be the right time." You slid out from behind me, then, and came to stand in front of me, looking at me with such tenderness that it was like the first time we'd made love all over again. It wasn't overwhelming anymore, though, and I felt a little bit less like a tattered leaf as you pulled me up and into your chest, holding me lightly but firmly within the circle of your arms. It is always '_our deep, dear silence_' in your arms, no matter what else.

You turned and still holding onto my back, pulled my coat up behind me, so I could stick my arms out to let you slide it on. As your other hand came away from my back, I found myself leaning a little too far forward, but you stepped into me just as I started to topple, so I only thumped into your chest and not the floor. You finished pulling my coat onto my shoulders then, and picked me up, leaning forward to balance me on your thigh as you put the rest of our things in my lap, then snugged me closer in your arms. "I've got you, Bones, I've got you."

I closed my eyes and let you steer us both out into the hall and into the world. You do have me. And I'm blessed to have you.

- - -

I got you home and undressed and into our bed without you waking up again after you fell asleep in the car on the way home. You whimpered a little as I pulled away from you once I'd settled the covers over you, your hand reaching out to me. Well, that's clear enough. I left you just long enough to take off my shoes and my weapon, and grab your computer from your bag. I settled back next to you, as you snuggled yourself back against my leg, and watched as the vertical furrow between your eyes smoothed a little.

When you settled again, I opened the computer and started to type.

_TO: 'Saroyan,' 'Cullen'  
FROM: S. Booth-Brennan  
RE: Out of office_

_Following my text message of earlier, we will be back in on Monday-- Sam, no need to have someone cover my class Monday AM. Unless it requires our direct involvement as to Kenton/Romano, please do not call in the meantime._

_Thanks--  
S.B._

- - -  
_  
TO: 'Family, Blood,' 'Family, Choice,' 'Karen,' 'Alan,' 'Bob'  
FROM: S.Booth-Brennan  
RE: Temperance/test results_

_We met with Delia today. Though we'd hoped differently, last week's blood work showing continuing presence of cancerous cells was confirmed by Tuesday's biopsy. There does not appear to be any further spreading, according to the MRI, and the staging remains the same, no worse, but we will need to begin another round of treatment the week after Thanksgiving, on a four-afternoon-a-week schedule. Neither of us will be at work tomorrow. Please let Temperance decide when she's ready to call you. We will be back at work on Monday._

_With thanks to all for allowing us some quiet time this weekend before the next engagement begins,  
Booth_

- - -

_TO: 'Jack and Angela'  
FROM: S. Booth-Brennan  
RE: Bones_

_Family, you've got my earlier message about the test results today. She's exhausted, and heartsore. We'll be out tomorrow through Monday, though Jack, if you get a hit on that compound, or need clearance to check it, let me know in the meantime and we'll do what's needed. I'm hoping she'll perk up enough for us to take Parker on Sunday, and he's been asking after you, so perhaps some Uncle and Auntie time is in order after church. I'll give you a call tomorrow or Saturday to keep you posted._

_Much love,  
Seeley_

- - -

I checked a few more emails, finished up my class outline for Monday, updated this a bit, and then checked my email again. There were a number of kind, sensitive, sympathetic responses already, but the most welcome, most simple, most heartfelt one was also the shortest.

_TO: 'Seeley'  
FROM: 'Jack and Angela'  
RE: Re: Bones_

_We love you. Call whenever you need us._

_J & A_


	48. Chapter 48

48.

I knew something was different, before I was fully awake and registered what was happening. "Shh, baby, shh," I said, turning to see that you'd curled on your side, away from me, shaking, your whole body wracked with silent sobbing. "Oh, Temperance, sweetheart," I said, sitting up against the headboard so I could pull you across my lap and gather you closer to me. "Bones, honey," I tried, rocking you in my lap like I used to do when Parker was smaller, "we'll get through this, sweetheart, we will." Your skin was chilly to the touch, so I started rubbing one hand on your back as I cradled your head to my chest with the other, trying to get you to calm down a little. I didn't like the strength of your shivering-- you hadn't had any supper, and it was well past midnight now. You were choking on your sobs, your breathing shallow and rasping as you continued to cry. "Temperance, love, you've got to stop crying," I tried, tipping your face up. "Look at me, please?" You choked out another sob, your eyes still closed, your cool skin shivering again as I shifted my grip around you. "Bones, lover, please? Look at me?"

You did then, looking so scared and so lost your eyes were practically black, as I tried to make you believe what I told you next. "I won't let you give up, do you understand? Bones, I'm not going to let you, you're going to stay, you're going to hold. You will." I pulled you up for what I'd intended to be a light kiss, but when my lips closed over yours, you shifted, and one arm made its way behind my neck to pull me closer, for a kiss of desperation. "I want to believe you," you whispered, tears still streaming out of your eyes. "I do, so much, I do." You sobbed aloud then, fresh tears starting as you choked out all the things you'd been tamping down since this whole thing began. That you'd been tamping down for me, back when I hadn't been strong enough to handle it. Two months, nearly three, does a lot to make a heart more whole, though-- I could do this, now. You've been strong for both of us, long enough.

I told you I knew, I agreed-- with everything you said, and not just because you're always right anyway. It isn't fair. You have done enough. You never did anything to deserve this. You have been through enough, a million times over. You do still have work to do, people to help, things of your own that you want and deserve a chance to do and to try. Each time I agreed, your sobbing let up just a little bit, as I continued to hold you and to rock you as you let loose your litany of doubts and fears and anger, every one of them valid, and real, and true, not selfish or petty like you were afraid they might be. You ripped my heart out a hundred times over and healed it a million times more when you sobbed that you didn't have enough time to love me, or Parker, even if you lived another hundred years, and then confessed you were selfish for wanting me all to yourself. Oh, my heart, my poor Bones.

"Temperance," I said, pulling you up to look at me again, your eyes still deep blue with doubt. "You are the love of my life. Period. My soul-mate, my partner, my help-meet. You are my wife, my heart's dearest desire. There is _nothing_ selfish in loving someone so much that you want to protect them from the rest of the world. Nothing. You are the most selfless person I know, and you can't go on feeling like this is somehow your fault. It isn't fair, and if I thought shooting my way through all the saints and angels would somehow make this all better, give you back the strength of your body to match the strength of your mind and your heart, then I would do it in an instant. But you can't ever, ever, let yourself believe that this is anything to do with who you are, and who you've been, and who you will be. It just isn't. You've got to believe me, please?"

You'd been staring at me, tears still falling from your unblinking eyes, as I looked at you, trying to make you believe me. When I finished talking, you asked, ever so quietly, "Do you really think so?"

"Oh, Bones," I said, pulling you closer again, "I know so, there's no doubt in my mind."

Your face eased, a little, and your closed your eyes and leant your head against my chest, sighing. "I don't believe in anything else, but I believe in you," you said, tearing and healing my heart all over again.

"Bones, my love, I believe in you, so we're even, okay?" You nodded, and uncurled a little, sighing some more as a few last tears fell from your eyes, my arms and my legs still rocking you. Your shivering had subsided, and you were warming again, finally, so I just sat there, holding you, petting your hair and cradling you close, until your breathing finally evened again, the tightness in your face and your posture when I'd put you to bed hours before easing just a bit more. When I judged you were finally sleeping, I shifted back down onto the bed again, then arranged us and the covers around us so you couldn't pull away to start crying again, without at least waking me up first.

I read somewhere once that prayers and blessings and curses are all the same thing, just seen from different perspectives. So whatever it was, a desperate prayer, a heartfelt blessing, a curse with all the strength I had in me, I thought _'You can't have her yet, not for years and years and years. I've done everything You've asked me to and more, and now I'm telling You. She's mine, and I've done a better job taking care of her than You have. She's mine, not Yours_. _Leave her to me, You can't have her until I say You can_.'

- - -

My phone was buzzing on the floor sometime later that morning-- the alarm said eight-thirty, though I'd have sworn I'd just gotten you back to sleep not an hour ago. You were still pulled tight against me, your forehead mostly smooth now, and your color much better. I pulled away enough to see if I could figure out where I'd put the damned thing-- oh, right there, next to the night stand. The ID said "Sid."

"Sid," I said, as softly as I could.

"Seeley, my man."

"Hold on just a sec, okay?" I slid out from under you, slipped my pillow under your chest, and pulled the covers up, then went out into the hall to close the door.

"Hey, sorry, thanks. What's up."

"I got your email last night, man, I'm sorry. Look, I've got a delivery coming in twenty minutes, but if I have Jeannie run some things over, you think that you'll use them?"

"That would be perfect, Sid, thank you. She didn't have anything last night, she was too sacked out after everything, and basically's been sleeping, since." I paused. Sid was a friend, our family by choice-- you wouldn't be mad if I told him. "She has to start taking steroids, she put seventeen of the twenty she lost back on, but now she's down almost thirty. If she can't put at least five of that back on, they're going to insist she stay home completely, and maybe even put in a G-tube. Delia's afraid that she'll catch every cold and flu bug that comes down the pike, otherwise, and it's coming up on that anyway. I don't know how I'm going to juggle Parker and her. He's just a germ factory in winter, his nose doesn't stop running until April."

There was a pause, before Sid said, "Well, I'll have Jeannie run some things over now, and I've got a few ideas. We'll get you stocked up with some things she can handle."

"She loved the tea, by the way, drank a whole pot of it. I put in practically a quarter-cup of honey, like you said."

"Glad to hear it. Well, look, I'm going to put some thought to this, but Jeannie'll be over in twenty for starters. You call if you need me, okay?"

"I will, thanks, Sid. I'm glad you're back."

"Thank your lady, my man. It's all her." It is, Bones. It's all you.

I ran downstairs to get a pair of sweatpants from the dryer rather than go back in the bedroom and wake you, and had just gotten back upstairs and pulled them on when I heard a car door slam. I jogged over to check the door and saw Jeanne coming up the walk, so I opened the door to prevent her ringing the bell. "Hello, cherie," she said, her expression tender and fierce all at once as she bustled in past me with two full grocery bags' worth of Sid's specials and one smaller bag. Her voice low, she started giving instructions, rapid-fire. "This one on the right? They all have a T. on them and your Doctor Wife should have all of them, Sidney says, before the end of tomorrow, any order she likes. Then there's a container in here," she said, lifting the smaller left hand bag up onto the counter, "with the base for those shakes she likes, all you have to do is put one whole cup of fruit in for each cup of the base. You have a blender, now, don't you?" I nodded, and pointed, afraid to interrupt Hurricane Jeanne. She was in full force, no doubt. "And this last one," she said, lifting the larger bag still in her left hand, "these here are for you, and Sid numbered them one to six, so you eat them in that order." Then, she opened the fridge and started stacking containers, reorganizing everything as I stood there, dumbstruck by the force of her personality. No wonder Sid hadn't gone back to Paris. When she finished, she turned and looked at me, then said, "Now where is that tea he gave you?" I pointed to the cupboard, opened it for her, and she set to rummaging around in the cabinets to pull out other herbal teas Sid must have told her to look for. "This raspberry leaf one, that cinnamon herbal chai, and this chamomile one. Not mint-- no mint, it'll give her heartburn or stomach upset, it relaxes the sphincters too much. Sidney said to make the cinnamon one with milk instead of water. You do have milk, don't you?"

"I do," I managed to get out, as she finished rearranging the fridge, cupboards, and freezer, making a list as she went. Then she pulled me back over to the door, stepping out onto the front stoop. "You keep taking care of that girl, you hear me? Sidney's going to take a look at this list, and he'll call or email you later with some ideas for what you can make her, and what to get from the grocery store, okay?"

"Thanks, Jeanne." She smiled straitly, patted me on the arm, and was off.

- - -

I folded the bags she'd brought and put them away, peeked in the containers so I knew what was there, then headed back to the bedroom, switching my phone to silent as I went. If Sam really needed me, he'd send someone by, or call the house-- the house phone barely rang, unless it was Rebecca or one of our friends, and they all knew not to call. You were still sleeping, not too hunched back in on yourself in the time I'd been gone, so I repeated my blessing and curse, '_Just let me take care of her_,' before I slid back into bed and got my arms around you again, proud and amazed and brokenhearted all over again when you sighed and relaxed a little bit more. '_Just let me take care of her_,' I thought again, pulling your head up to rest over my heart, as I clasped my arm around your waist, and let my own hand rest over your heart, so I could feel its steady beat, your still-here-ness.

I slept lightly after that, the neighborhood sounds of mid-morning dogwalkers and mothers with carriages and play dates creeping around the drawn shades. You slept heavily on, but seemed to uncurl a bit more every hour I held you, so I willed myself to stay quiet, though lying with you and listening to you breathe and feeling your heart beat is not a hard thing to do. It's about the easiest, in fact, right after kissing and touching you all over. Eventually, your breathing shifted, and you began to move your arms and legs some more, in the way you do a few minutes before you start to wake up on your own. I let my hand start circling your back, so you woke up slowly, and eventually the hand I'd pulled into mine twitched a bit, your eyes opening, still cloudy with sleep.

"Hi," I said, shifting so I could kiss you. Your eyes fluttered closed again, as your soft lips gently parted, and you kissed me back.

"Hi," you murmured back, shifting a bit to hook your leg over mine.

"Can I get you something to eat?"

You blinked up at me, still muzzy from sleep, then said softly, "No, not yet. In a little bit."

I contented myself to let my hand at your back re-learn each rib and vertebra, each curve of hip and waist, the valley between your scapulae, the knobs where your clavicles end at the tops of your shoulders. I retraced each bone, each muscle, each patch of soft fragrant skin that was you and shielded the heart of you, as your hand in mine twitched a bit more, before you laced your fingers with mine and stretched out a bit.

"What time is it?"

"About eleven-thirty."

"So late," you murmured.

"You needed the sleep," I said, my hand between your shoulderblades pressing you to me.

"I suppose so," you sighed, then pulled your hand from mine to brace yourself as you sat halfway up, leaning on the arm you'd been lying upon. "I assume everyone knows I'm home feeling sorry for myself?"

"Temperance," I said, shifting back so I could seize your chin and make you look at me. "What everyone knows is that I made you stay home despite the fact that you'd have probably already gone to the lab only to pass out on your couch anyway, and that instead, you are patiently forbearing the tender if overbearing ministrations of your loving husband." I was right-- I knew a big word like ministrations would make you smile a little. "They also know that I intend to pay solicitous attention to you for the rest of the weekend so that you are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for catching bad guys on Monday, and that I have personally vowed to riddle with projectiles and/or defenestrate anyone who has the audacity to intrude upon your repose between now and then."

You snorted, lightly, but I'll take a small snort over a frown or more of last night's tears anytime. "You can't defenestrate anyone really effectively, we live on the first floor."

"Well, I can't go for height, that's true, but there's always distance, and I'll have you know, I threw a really mean discus in high school track and field." Oh, look, there it is, half of the smile you get when you think I'm being ridiculous.

Your mouth quirked a bit more, and you settled down back onto the bed again. "Well, I can't have you shooting and/or tossing our friends and family through the window, I suppose."

"Good girl," I said, leaning in for a kiss. You responded, then said, "I suppose I could handle some breakfast. I'm actually rather hungry."

"I can handle that. You can have your choice-- Sid sent some stuff over with Jeanne earlier, so you tell me. Do you want a breakfast burrito with black beans and sausage and pico de gallo and lots of cheese and avocado, some banana-stuffed french toast with blueberry and lemon sauce, or a yogurt parfait with pears and cinnamon-almond granola?" Your ears perked up at the last one. Figures, you'd choose the one thing that was less than 600 calories to eat first. Ah well, Sid knows what he's doing, I'm sure you'll get around to the rest soon.

"The parfait, I think," you said, rolling back onto the bed as I sat up and pulled back on my sweats.

I bent down and gave you a kiss, before stuffing some more pillows under your head. "Here, you lie there and think of ridiculous things you want to do for the next few days, I'll be back with some breakfast for both of us, okay?"

- - -

There had to be two cups' worth of food in the yogurt parfait and you managed all of the shake I made with some raspberries I had in the freezer, then a cup of the blackberry herbal stuff Jeanne said Sid said was okay, so I guess you were hungry. I was trying my best not to watch every mouthful, I know you hate that, and it is Sid, who's got magical super Quartermaster powers or something, but you always look, well, a little more solid after you've eaten something. I took our things back to the kitchen and when I came back you had just done your getting out of bed trick, and had paced over to the bureau to pull open the bottom drawer where I'd put all your pyjamas. When I stuffed them in there I didn't even think about the bending over thing-- I'll have to rearrange stuff so all your things are on top.

"Would you please make me a bath?" You asked, not looking at me as you held on to the bureau to crouch in front of the drawer, then started flipping through the selection.

"Okay," I responded, torn between making sure you'd get up again and kicking myself for hovering, so I kicked myself and did what you asked, keeping an ear out while I fiddled with the water temperature and contemplated the issue of the tub. I didn't like the idea of you using Parker's stool to get in and out of the tub, because it's too wobbly for anyone taller than four feet. I'm not much one for step stools, either, since I can reach everything I need in the house, but as I waited for the tub to fill, I thought of a possible fix and brought back a notepad to jot down some ideas.

"What is your gut instinct telling you now?" you said, trailing in and setting a gown and a robe on the counter.

"Just... if we have your dad make a wider, lower stool, almost kind of like stairs, there's actually room to leave something like that at the other end of the tub, and we could attach a tension rod between the floor and the ceiling next to it, so you'd have something to hold on to? That might work." You walked around, and looked, and nodded-- I could see you visibly calculating all the angles in your head.

"That would work, good idea." I tested the temperature again and turned the water off, waiting as you came back over and wrapped your arms around me. "Want to wash my back?"

"Hmm. Let's see. Hang out in the bathtub with the most gorgeous woman in the world, or do paperwork? I don't know-- can you give me a little more information to help me make a reasoned, objective decision?"

I've never been so happy to have you swat me.

- - -

We'd gotten dressed enough to go out in the backyard, and you were lying on top of me as we swung in the hammock under a ton of blankets while you worked on another cup of tea. It wasn't bad, actually, so I had some too. You'd suggested going outside, and I was a little leery, asking if it didn't bother you that I'd just shot Kenton out of the tree only three days ago. You'd shrugged and said yes, but reasoned that if people always avoided places that have negative associations, then society would be far more nomadic than it currently was. Of course you had an anthropological explanation, Bones. And a logical one, too. Besides, I don't want to let that bastard spoil our house.

"Do you want to stay home today, or go out and do something?"

"I could stand to go out for a bit. I actually had a couple of things I wanted to pick up from the bookstore, if you don't mind."

"Any particular one?"

"I like the independent one near the University. The owner's very nice, he does a good job with signings so the fans get a chance to talk to you, but he keeps the line moving. And he has a nice selection."

"You could always order it online." You shot me a dirty look.

"No. There are many aspects of our commercial culture that have become so corporatized that it doesn't matter which store you patronize, but independent booksellers are an important part of the social fabric, acting as arbiters and purveyors of new thoughts and ideas, and I'd much rather have them special order something for me and pay the slightly higher price than I would online, than give my money to a company that makes no effort to advance the social interaction of its patrons."

"Yes, Professor Bones," I said, then laughed as you swatted me again. You turned a bit, and handed me your cup so I could put it on the ground. You snuggled your head against my chest and laced your hand behind my neck as I pushed off from the tree with my foot to set us swinging again. "Warm enough?"

"Mmm-hmm," you agreed, "plenty." It was sunny out, and the shade was on the other side of the tree at this time of day, so we were only dappled with leaf shade. I wish I'd put this up earlier, it would be too wet out soon to leave it out longer, but I do like just hanging out with you, especially when you fall asleep on top of me with a little smile on your face. Of course, you're perfect, so you don't even snore or drool when you sleep, which is really annoying, especially considering that while you're not the first person to complain about the way I snore, you are the most varied and descriptive in complaining about it. An orangutan with bad sleep apnea? Really, you should write for the Tonight Show. (Booth, I don't know what that means.)

We hung there a bit longer, and every so once in a while I'd push off from the tree again, until my back started to get cool as the afternoon wore on. I knew you weren't cold, since you were lying on top of me and under three blankets, and you were making those sleeping kitten noises you sometimes make when you're having a nice dream, but the sun had shifted and I kind of had to use the bathroom.

"Hey, sleepy," I tried, moving one of your curls off your forehead.

"Mmph," you responded, eyes still shut and your hand still curled behind my neck.

"Hey, Bones, let's go back in and get ready."

"No," you grumbled. "My Booth, 'm warm. You stay here."

Damnit, I knew that was going to backfire on me some day.

- - -

Forty-five minutes later I couldn't stand it any longer, and had to wrestle myself out from under you, which is a hell of a lot harder in a hammock than in bed. You only grumbled a bit, though, so I left you there while I ducked in quick to answer nature's call, glad that I had a view of the yard from the bathroom window. That herbal tea sure goes through you.

- - -

I actually found a parking space in the neighborhood not too far from the bookstore. Usually parking around the University is a nightmare, all college students who don't know how to park and take up too much space and leave their cars sticking out at ridiculous angles, and professors and yuppies who know better but don't want to get their precious imported cars scratched, because like that's not what comprehensive insurance is for? But it's a nice neighborhood, architecturally, and there's lots of little overpriced stores I don't usually have time to go poking into, since I'm usually only here when I'm picking you up or taking you home from class. The weather was nice, even if it was scarf and jacket weather for me as well as you, so the only problem was the brick and cobblestone parts of the sidewalks, but I'd just EDG anybody who was hogging the flatter cement parts and got in your way.

The older fellow standing behind the counter looked up as I held open the door for you, you looking down at the threshold as you stepped over it, and I caught a look of shock flashing over his face before he muffled his surprise and put on a pleasant, if somewhat forced smile. "Dr. Brennan," he said, as you looked up and I let the door shut behind us, my hand at your back as you headed over to greet him. "Carter, hello," you replied, reaching the counter and resting your hand on its edge, for balance. "Carter, this is my husband, FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth-Brennan," you said, turning and flashing me the almost imperceptible smirk you wore every time you gloated that I wasn't too-alpha male to change my name too. Continuing, you said, "Booth, this is Carter Lewis, who owns this lovely monument to reading, bad coffee, and dust bunnies." He continued smiling, and came around the corner to kiss you on the cheek before shaking hands.

"Hello, Agent Booth, it's a pleasure to meet you. Congratulations on your recent marriage." He turned slightly back to you then, to smile and ask you about when your next book was coming out and other publishing shop talk. There was a muscle right under his eye that was jumping, and I wondered if it had been so long since he'd seen you that your weight loss was a surprise. I looked around while you two were chatting-- it was a nice store, bigger than it looked outside, lots of windows on the front and sides, and a staircase leading up at one side of the room, with a doorway at the back of this room opening out into another room behind with more shelves. It was floor-to-ceiling book shelves in the main room, and chin-height shelves on the floor, with shabby but comfortable looking wooden chairs and tables scattered around, some bearing plants, some used coffee and teacups, others with notepads and other squinty detritus. I saw what you meant by dust bunnies, but it wasn't gungy-- just that dust collects around that much paper no matter what you do, you just learn to put up with it. There was a fat orange tabby cat sleeping in the window next to the register, which I suppose is a prerequisite to joining whatever passes for a union among independent booksellers. There should be a wheezy old mutt kicking around here too, if he's really serious about his business. Oh, yeah, there he was, snoring under a beat-up leather wing chair in the corner.

"Well, doctor," he said, as I turned my attention back to the conversation, "is there something in particular I can assist you with, or are you just browsing?"

You started explaining about some anthropological history of the horse in Anatolia and China you wanted to pick up for Edison, and then something else about some coffee-table book on amphibians that I suppose had something to do with Jack's salamanders, concluding, "But really, it's just been a while since I've been in and I wanted to just poke around and see what's new." He smiled, and made some suggestions of new nonfiction biographies and histories, and some essayist who'd just come out with something, then looked a little startled when you asked him about children's fiction. You caught it, and explained. "Booth comes equipped with a five-year-old son who's just starting to read, so I'm dreadfully behind on my knowledge of the children's literature canon."

"Anything you have that isn't '_Goodnight Moon_,' '_Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel_,' or any of the Clifford books would be an incredible relief," I added. "If I have to say '_Goodnight Moon_' one more time, I'm going to shoot the moon." You laughed, though Carter looked even more startled, but then I guess he would, since he's not part of our regular crowd, and isn't used to the frequency with which I threaten to shoot things.

He smiled nervously at me, and responded. "Well, the children's section is over here, let me show you a few of the newer things, though we have all of the classics, as well..." He was halfway across the room before he turned to realize you were moving a lot more slowly than he was, and again managed to let his surprise flicker for only a second before recomposing himself. You followed on, serenely, my hand at your back, until we reached him and you smiled up at him, saying only, "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

He recovered quickly, and squatted to start pulling books off the shelves, asking what Parker was interested in and handing up things he thought he might like. Soon enough, we had a pile to sort through, and there was a chair nearby with a table, so I gave it a go. "Hey, Bones-- why don't we take these over there and you can start deciding how much of a squint you're going to turn my kid into while I go find those books you were talking about? You two can catch up while I look for a few things, okay?"

You gave me the '_Don't think I don't know what you're doing, but fine, I'll sit anyway_' look, and let me push you over to the chair, taking the books from you as you lowered yourself into it and setting them on the table. I smiled at Carter, and said, "He'll be in first grade next year and is on a real dinosaur and geology kick right now, although what five-year-old isn't at that point, I don't know." He nodded, and turned back to the shelves as I wandered off to the anthropology and natural science sections to see if I could find those books you were talking about.

"Bones!" I called, when I found the lizard book. You looked up, as I called "Is this it?" You squinted, so I read off the title. "Yes, it is, thank you," you called, and then set back to flipping through the stack Carter was piling up on the table. I found the horse book with no problem in the anthropology section, then went back through to the start to see if he had any of your squintier works. He did. Marriage rituals among the Hutus. (Explain to me who the Hutus are?) Alcohol consumption in Siberia. (So, basically, you're immune to vodka, too?) Ritual gift exchange in Edo Japan through today. A few more, and if judging from the titles was any measure, then pretty much the only places you haven't been are Indonesia and Antartica. Antartica for the honeymoon it is, it appears. No way I'm going someplace as hot as Indonesia.

He had a pretty good selection of academic works. It shouldn't surprise me, he is in a University neighborhood, but booksellers can be so arbitrary in their selections, that you never know what you're going to find. I poked around a bit and then found my way over to the poetry section, and picked out a few things, one in particular catching my eye as I remembered back to college. I'd forgotten about that one. I took the pile I'd collected and went over to the cookbooks to see if there was anything devoted to high-fat vegetarian cooking, but no such luck, so I made my way back over to where you were still sitting. I looked down at the pile, and couldn't help it.

"I forgot about Paddington! We have to get the whole series, if you have it," I said, turning to Carter, who nodded and walked back to the shelves. "Jared and I stole a jar of marmalade once from a store because we wanted to know why Paddington was always going on about it, and ate our way through a whole jar even though we thought it was disgusting, because we were sure that if Paddington liked it, we were missing something. It was only later that I realized the English just have weird taste in food." You laughed, and moved the book over to the pile of "to go's" you'd accumulated, then looked curiously at the stack I was carrying.

"What do you have?"

I started handing you the books. "The lizard book, the horse book, Daniel Goodman's newest, we at least owe him the royalties on one of his books, a Mary Oliver and a Donald Hall, and, this," I said, showing you the last one. You took it, read the cover, and smiled. "You never told me you were published," you said, tugging on my hand so I'd come down for a kiss. "Now I have to apologize for all those times I felt the need to announce that I was a best-selling author."

"I sort of forgot. I was mostly doing the bibliography stuff and a little of the comparative analysis-- my spoken Spanish is non-existent, I just read it, enough to compare translations and read maps so I can find enemy encampments."

You snorted, then said, "Well, Sergeant-Professor, I hardly think a credited monograph comparing translations of Pablo Neruda for imagetic consistency with the original Spanish is dump change. Do you have a copy at home?"

"Chump change, sweetheart, not dump. You know, I don't think I do, actually. I lost a bunch of my books when I got thrown out of my place after ... well, right before ..." You nodded, cutting me off. "Right before Parker was born, right? Well, we have to get a few copies, then, one for home, one for my office, and one for yours so that you can console yourself with the muse when the Review Board comes calling. Do they have any more?"

"Yeah, he does, actually," I replied, and you smiled some more, then pushed me off, swatting me, and saying, "Get the translations you were working from, too, I'll let you quiz me later."

I couldn't help it. "And what happens if you get a question wrong?"

You smirked, and said, "I'm sure you'll think of _cualquier cosa_." _Cualquier cosa_. Oh, right, something. Yeah, Professor Booth'll think of something, baby.

- - -

You were sitting in the armchair petting the resident mutt, who you told me was named Oscar Wilde. "He doesn't look like a gay playwright to me," I shot. "More like a Corgi/Jack Russell mix." You laughed and went back to rubbing his belly, so I took the books over to the register to pay. Carter pulled out a big shopping bag and started loading things in as he rang the items through, his eyebrows shooting up when he caught all the poetry and then again when he hit my monograph. "Different life," I murmured, to which he chuckled. You were talking to the dog about his namesake, and while I'm sure I would have been as fascinated as the dog was by your take on puritanism and prurience in Victorian mores, I was a little distracted from following the rest of your canine lecture when Carter murmured "I'm sorry to have been so surprised when you two walked in, it's been four months since she last was here, and..." He trailed off, clearly wanting to say something apologetic without being intrusive. I just gave him a smile, and said, "Well, things change, sometimes not always for the better. She's doing as well as can be expected, under the circumstances." He didn't press on what 'under the circumstances' meant, and merely replied, "Well, I'd heard that inquiries could be directed to her publisher?"

"That's right."

You pushed yourself out of the seat then, and gave me an '_it's ten feet, leave me alone_' look, and walked back over, setting your purse on the counter as you dug around in it to pull out the tube of sanitizing gel and squirting your hands to remove some of the dog dirt. I finished signing the credit receipt, while Carter brought you up to speed on two new restaurants in the neighborhood, some Middle Eastern place and some Ethiopian place. Ugh. I suppose to most people it's exotic, but when it's all you've eaten for months because that's what they feed you in between beating the crap out of you, well, trust me, you never want to see what passes for food in those backwaters ever again. I mean, yeah, I know I wasn't getting the gourmet cooking, far from it, but still. I'll take a cheeseburger any day. You smiled and thanked him, then let me grab the bag and head to the door, you coming along pretty steady looking, and took the step down well, letting me propel you along as we walked a little further along the block.

You dragged me into that little vintage store where you'd bought that blue dress you wore to that meeting in New York, and looked at handbags and scarves while I poked around. It was alright, but their ties were pretty boring, and they didn't have any good t-shirts, but you walked out of there with two new bags. Then you wanted to go down another block to an art supplies store to pick up some stuff for Angela, and before I knew it we'd stopped and gotten a sailboat model kit for Sully and some stuff for Parker at a high-end toy store, and then some perfume you thought Cam would like from some fancy soap store. It was nice, but you smell best of all.

"Thank you present day, huh, Bones?"

"'Tis the thanksgiving season," you said, quirking your mouth as we headed back to the car. "I can take some of that, you know," you said, shooting me a look as I shifted the bags around on a bench so I could fit them all into one bag.

"I know, but remember, you're forbearing my tender ministrations, right?" You smiled more widely.

"That's right. Saint Temperance, succumbing to her importunate husband's care-taking." Heh. You said husband. Even if you called me importunate, you still called me husband. Heh.

We were almost back to the car when I stopped and put the bag down. "Hold on a sec, there, Bones, will you?" You shot me a puzzled look right before I drew my weapon and dodged behind a tree to pin the guy who'd been following us by the neck against the wall of the cafe we'd just passed, the muzzle an inch from his forehead.

"Want to explain why you've been following us for the last four blocks, there, buddy?" The guy turned white. I knew he was just a vulture photographer, he had all the subtlety of Parker on a sugar high, but I figured maybe if I put on a bit of a show, word would get around and I wouldn't have to do this again.

I'll give the guy credit for balls, he actually managed to squeak out, "Let me go, or I'll call the cops. I'm the press, you can't do this to me."

Heh. I pulled him away from the wall just to slam him back into it again, then looked him in the eye as I told him, quietly, "I have news for you. You're not the press. You're a fucking vulture. I, however, _am_ the cops. I am also her husband. So you're zero and two today, so far. Want to try again?"

His eyes widened, then, and I heard people stopping behind us on the sidewalk. "Bones, you want to come get Mr. Snap-Happy's camera here, and delete whatever photos he's taken?"

You came over slowly, your face serious, and slipped under my arm to pull the guy's camera bag off his shoulder, then came to stand between me and the buzzard so we could both look at the screen as you paged back through the photographs. He'd gotten a lot, some of them when you'd grabbed my arm as we went down and then up on the curbs as we crossed the street, and once when you'd almost tripped a little on an uneven brick. You deleted them all, your face even graver as you showed him which ones you'd deleted, and he just watched, panic in his eyes and sweat dripping off his forehead. "Thanks, sweetheart," I said, as you put the camera back in his bag and lowered it to the ground, then stepped back a bit to let me finish up.

I'd had my weapon trained on him the whole time, and I squeezed his throat a little harder as I gave him the last warning he'd get. "Listen to me. Dr. Booth-Brennan and I like our privacy, and we like to work uninterrupted, so if I catch you or any of your leech photographer friends anywhere near us ever again, I won't hesitate to have you thrown into a holding cell for interfering with whatever investigation Dr. Brennan is assisting the FBI with, and then your bullshit press claim won't mean a goddamned thing. And since Dr. Brennan is _always_ assisting the FBI with one thing or another, I don't think you'll find a defense lawyer in town who'll get you out before I _personally_ bring you in for questioning. Understand?"

He nodded, panic on his face, so I let up my hold a bit, before slamming him back into the wall one more time. "And you're going to make sure all your little friends know, right? You're going to tell them that it doesn't matter what I look like, or whether she seems to be alone, because they'll be on the ground and cuffed before they even see me coming, right?" He nodded, tears starting to well in his eyes. "Good. Because I know what you look like, now, and I never forget a face. If one of your little school of sharks doesn't take me seriously? I'm coming after you. So just pray you never see me again." And then I let him go, and holstered my weapon, and walked back over to you, ignoring the crowd that had gathered. He tried to sidle around us, but then you surprised me, and snaked out an arm to pull him back by the strap of his bag, and jerking him down to the pavement. He was gasping like a fish when you stepped on his throat.

In your most pleasant, most sweet voice, you gave him the worst EDG I'd seen yet. "Just one more thing to make clear. He's the gentle one in this marriage. If I have to take care of this if it happens again? Well, you'd better pray it's my husband you run into, not me."

Heh. You said husband.


	49. Chapter 49

49

49.

"Alpha-male."

"Alpha-female."

"Barbarian."

"Amazon."

"Love of my life."

"No, Bones, love of my life! I mean, did you see the look on his face when you sent him flying to the pavement? That was priceless!"

"I think I made him wet his pants."

"I knew I loved you for a reason."

- - -

You nodded off in the car on the way back to the house, a smile on your face from scaring that leech even more than I did. That's my Bones. I couldn't carry you and the stuff in, though, so I essayed a "Hey, Bones," before I decided what to do. No response. Well, Mel's got one of his guys three cars down so he'll have to cover me while we get back in the house and then keep an eye on the car. They know the deal.

I got out and came around to your side to unbuckle you, the motion eliciting an "Mmmph" from you.

"You going to get up, or sleep in the car, or let me carry you in?" I asked.

"Door number three," you mumbled. Okay. We haven't been watching any game shows, but I think that means you want me to carry you in. Where do you get some of these things, Bones? Sometimes I think someone's giving you secret pop culture lessons.

Nah.

- - -

I woke to the doorbell ringing, and the sound of you answering it and bringing packages in. Still dusk outside, not too late yet. I turned, and the alarm read six-thirty, so I couldn't have been out any more than an hour. That surge of fury I felt when you caught that asshole photographer left me a little winded after I was done with him. I don't care so much about me, but if they start thinking they can follow me around, then we won't be able to get any work done at all, and those people drive like maniacs and are shameless when they think they'll be allowed to get any photographs at all. I won't have them put Parker in danger like that, or get in the way of your catching someone whose absence could only make the world better.

Better they know from the outset that I will gut and filet them if they cross me, whether or not I can actually do it right now. Though if I had to, I think I probably could, thank goodness for adrenaline. There are very few reports of instances where a surge of adrenaline failed to carry someone through a stressful episode successfully, even if the physical aftereffects can be very taxing.

- - -

I put the groceries away, checked my email and saw that Sid had sent me a dozen recipes that Jeanne must have had him copy Delia on. Delia had responded with one line—"_Sounds delicious, do I need to make reservations at your place_?" None of them were too hard, either, so I knew I could make them and Angela (or Jack, or Jenkins) could too. I wasn't so sure about your Dad, I only ever see him bringing takeout, but he could always just call Sid and pick something up anyway.

I sent your father a message about the bathtub quandary along with the approximate dimensions he'd be dealing with, then updated my work calendar with the schedule of appointments we'd set for your through Christmas, and changed around some of my Monday afternoon department meetings to first thing Friday morning. Too bad if the bastards were hungover from starting the weekend early at O'Reilly's on Thursdays. I mean, I love my desk jockeys, don't get me wrong, they're the best ones in the building, but they still tend to think work's an eight to five thing. Jack emailed me all the home games for the Capitals season, so I put those in too, though the chance to go to more than one or two the whole season probably wouldn't come up. People always get murdered during the good sports games. It's like the criminals only like shitty teams, and want to ruin it for the rest of us.

- - -

I was down in the basement running on the treadmill when I heard your voice from the top of the stairs.

"Booth?"

I hopped off and came to stand at the foot of the stairs as you looked down, amused, and looking pretty steady on your feet. "Is this where you hide all the bodies?" That's right, you haven't been down here yet. I hate these stairs, they're so rickety, and I've only got the one railing, not one on each side. If it makes you feel any better, Parker's not allowed down here at all, either—the stairs really are too steep. I suppose I'd better get your dad to fix them, though.

"No, I'm not so dumb as to think I could hide bodies down here. Your nose is far too attuned to the smell of organ decay for me to think I could possibly get away with that. I keep them all in a meat locker down in the warehouse district."

You smirked. "Good boy, nothing like insect infestation odors to spoil supper. Is there food in the fridge? I'll heat up something while you finish."

"Sid said to take your pick of whatever's got a T. on it, I'm supposed to eat mine in numerical order."

You laughed, then said, "Well, I don't want a repeat of the seven organ soup debacle, I'll make sure I open the right thing," and backed out of the door, headed back into the kitchen. I had ten minutes left on the timer, so I finished my run, thinking the same thing I always do every time I run on the treadmill. I hate treadmills. They're never sturdy enough, they always wobble a little, they don't cushion your knees as much as running outside on a track. And going for a run on the streets is no good because the surface is uneven and staying in shape does me no good if I blow out my knee on a training run. But they're a necessity when you leave the house before seven and don't get in until after nine, or later, if it's your weekend for stakeouts—those hours don't work for going to the gym on a regular basis, and anyway, a perp came after me at the gym one time and it totally ruined my workout. It's just easier to do it at home, although the scenery's not as interesting. Not that I was ever anything but a merely aesthetic admirer of the feminine form after I met you.

Okay, well, not entirely. I mean, I am a man, but after a certain point the admiration would go something like this. "_Wow, she's hot, look at the ass on her, she's got great abs, too, but her waist is wider than Bones,' and Bones' ass is curvier and softer-looking…_" Which then, of course, would make me hard thinking about how your ass bounces when you're running down an alley after a perp, and since I would also be hard while I was actually chasing you chasing a perp down an alley, it's really a wonder I managed to catch anyone at all.

Or I'd be out for some drinks with the guys from work and some waitress would lean down to serve us our beers and I would think, "_Oooh, look at those, pretty, soft, big, I wonder how they'd feel, but she doesn't fill out her top the same way Bones does…_" and then I'd get sprung thinking about whatever show you'd given me that day when you leaned over the newest set of remains to come in. Not that you're in the habit of wearing revealing clothes in the lab, but still, the possibilities about way the fabric of your shirt would gather and shift were endlessly fascinating. You know you're hard up when you start fantasizing about being one of those v-neck sweater thingies you wear in the winter time, just to be closer to your breasts than I ever thought I would be.

Pretty pathetic, really. I went out on a date once with this air force pilot after Epps, and she was stacked, and she was hot for me, but her eyes were this kind of insipid watery blue, and she was a wise-ass in a totally different way from you, pretty obnoxious, really, so by the time dinner was over and she'd done this oral sex thing with the chicken wings that normally would have made me drag her out of there after the first time she licked that sauce off her fingers? All I could think was, '_meh, lady, you should see Bones drink a milkshake_.' Which was pretty much the nail in that date's coffin. I think that's the last one I went on—the one when I realized I'd rather have a permanent boner than bone anyone else but you. (Hah, hah, Booth, very clever repetition of the word bone, I get it. Yes, baby, I'm hot for you, too.)

Hey, wait. The timer's off and I'm still running down here looking at my boring basement wall when I could be upstairs watching you lick a fork or a spoon? Or suck the straw on one of Sid's milkshakes? I mean, I'm glad that you like them and they seem like they're something you'll always eat, but it's increasingly difficult knowing what it actually feels like to be the straw now, and not pick you up and take you back to your office so I can have my way with you on your couch. Okay, now I'm three minutes over the timer, what the hell is wrong with me?

- - -

You came bouncing up the stairs just as I'd finished reheating your pork ribs and macaroni and cheese, and setting them on a plate for you with the three bean salad and biscuits Sid had also included. I'd decided I wanted that French toast for supper, and a banana butterscotch protein shake to go with it, and was slicing the banana into the blender along with some of the butterscotch sauce we keep for my ice cream when you came over and threw your sweaty arms around me, then licked the side of my neck. You must be thinking about the milkshakes again. I wonder what would happen if I bought slightly wider, longer straws?

- - -

"Can I try one of your ribs?"

"I thought you didn't like pork."

"I don't, but they look good."

"Can I have some of your French toast?"

"Help yourself."

"Mmmph. Oh, my God. Bones, what did you say to Sid to make him come back?"

"I didn't say anything other than that we were getting married and that you really missed his pie. The rest was all him—well, except for the blackmail part."

"Bones, blackmail? You blackmailed Sid? How?"

"He heard about my pudding through the Sully/FBI grapevine, and had been after that baker whose cake I based the recipe from for the whole time he'd been there, so when he heard that my pudding was getting Sully action five nights a week, and that it had the same ingredients, minus the flour in the cake, he begged me for the recipe. I told him I'd only give it to him if he came back to make you some pies for the wedding."

"It all comes back to your pudding, doesn't it?"

"My pot de crème is quite excellent, too. I'm more than a one pudding trick pony, you know."

I couldn't help it. That, my funny Bones, was good. I snorted my Dr. Pepper across the table, accidentally spraying the rest of your French toast.

"Booth!"

"I'm sorry! Here, have a pork rib. And some mac & cheese. It's not as good as yours, but still…"

Oh, um. Maybe I shouldn't have offered you that rib. That air force captain has nothing on the way you're licking your fingers right now. You're going to kill me if you keep doing that.

- - -

I didn't really want the pork rib, I just wanted to get you worked up enough that you wouldn't resist when I backed you up against the sink and then held on to the counter behind you as I lowered myself to kneel on the floor in front of you. These athletic shorts of yours are much easier to deal with than pants and belt buckles and zippers, and while you are the most wonderful, solicitous lover a woman could ever have, the fact remains that I am not going to get a head rush and pass out on you if I am methodical and careful about the way I go down on you, which I really like to do, and not just because you enjoy it. Although I like to do things for you that you enjoy, too, no matter what I might think of them.

I enjoy the way your muscles bunch in your back and your thighs, the way your adductors twitch when I draw you into my mouth for the first time, quickly and firmly so as you gasp out my name, sometimes Bones, sometimes Temperance. They both are who I am, now. I love hearing the way your breath changes when I vary the pressure of my tongue and my cheeks on your length, the way you jerk back involuntarily when I press the tip of my tongue across the head of you, and again when I increase the pressure, or press the tip of my tongue into the slit at your very tip, then circle it before pressing again, pulling a guttural moan from you when I do it a third time. I love the firm, hot, spicy-salt-slick taste of you, your own warm-peppery-spicy-leathery scent filling my nose as I take you into my mouth, give you as deep of a kiss as I possibly can, while you grunt when I increase the pressure around you. My breasts grow heavy and ache when I can feel your hips quiver and buttocks clench when I speed the pace with which I draw you in and out of my mouth, the way you thicken when I dig my fingers into your thigh as I alter my stance so I can take you deeper into my mouth. It makes my core cramp and my folds drip with longing when you whine at the way I increase the press of my lips around you while blowing my cheeks around you, so that the firm ring of my lips sliding along you is the only thing you feel, the rest of it hot air and warm cheeks, just out of reach, until you groan as I continue to tease you, your hand tangled in my hair as I savor the salt beads of your need that collect at the back of my throat every time I take you in as far as I can.

Your willingness to sacrifice your pleasure for mine, the way you never grab, or buck, or tell me what to do next when I'm savoring you, all make me long to draw your pleasure from you in the same way you do for me, and I'm coming to know and learn to prolong that last twitch at your hips before you thicken one last time, then burst in my mouth with a surge of heat, and salt, and vitality, as powerful as you, as satisfying as you, as nourishing to my body as you words and deeds of love are to my heart. That you always look dazed and stunned afterward, as if you hadn't done anything to deserve it in the first place? Well, I always want to do this for you anyway, but that disbelief and your sigh of amazement make me want to start immediately, all over again.

So I do. And I will. I'm not ready to think about, much less write about, all the things that these most recent events might possibly mean, but if I can return to you the love you've told me, showed me, proven to me over and again until all the empty parts of me are full again through the acts of my body, until I can talk out loud about all of this again, then I'll do at least that, and hope that it suffices in the meantime to prove to you that I'd believe in a Heaven I don't believe in just to storm it for you, that I'd slay saints and angels I don't think exist to save you and the ones that you love, that I'll do anything you ask, because the fact that you believe in me makes me real again, in a way I never was until you came a long.

The whole Platonic idea of living our lives in a fire-lit cave, thinking the shadows cast from behind us are real, until we emerge from the cave, and are blinded by the light, the reality of things outside? I lived in that cave until you came along, and I'm still blinded by the light you cast, the realness of things that you show to me. I'm not real unless you're with me. I want to prove it to you and to me as much as I can.

- - -

You lay against me on the living room floor, a sated smile on your face as the sweat from your cheek cooled against my chest, our lungs heaving together as we both fell back to earth. I have no idea how you do that thing with your mouth, you're just an all-around genius—I mean, I'm pretty exceptional when it comes to being ready to go again, but it usually takes me at least three to five minutes, but whoo, boy, when you do that lip thing… whoo. Just, whoo.

- - -

I woke, my eyes still weighted closed by the force of our loving, as you gathered the throws on the floor around me, and knelt to lift me and stand to carry me to our bed. The ease with which you manage things physically astounds me—you have perfect control over your body, your environment, people's reactions to you-- not to mention the control you have over my body, my reactions to you. The way the same fingers you use to release a safety, pull a trigger, brush away a tear, trace the line of my cheek, soothe a sore muscle or tender spot, tease an aching, painful nipple, or stretch my painfully cramping walls, stoking a burning need for you to fill me that leaves me breathless—you draw from me more longing, more love, more release and fulfillment than anyone I've ever known, and I yearn for your touch constantly, even as I wonder at the way all my self-containment collapses, melts, disappears at your touch.

When you pulled back the covers and lowered me to the bed, your departing hand brushed the side of my still-aching breast, and I moaned at the heat that flushed through me again at your slightest touch.

You chuckled as your hand returned to me, brushing my stomach as your weight settled around me, your voice low as you whispered in my ear, "Still want me, baby?"

My eyes were too heavy to open, and the darkness behind my lids heightened the force of the sensations you always draw from me. Your fingers brushed across my tautened nipples, as I whined "Oh! Seeley! Always!" and you laughed again before lowering your head to nip sharply at my shoulder, as your hands pulled my arms over my head, pinning my wrists with one hand as you assaulted my body again with your mouth and your hands, until I was a quivering mass of sensation, unable to tell where your mouth ended and my skin began, where your fingertips began and my body's walls existed. I called out your name, brokenly, as you brought me over the edge, again and again, your hands and mouth manipulating me until each tongue stroke, each fingertip brush eradicated my sense of my self, the heat and force of you melting me.

When you finally surged into me, I arced like a live wire, screaming from the need every new release drew from me, until all that remained was your hands at my hips, your breaths hot in my ear, your heat thrusting endlessly into me, as I thrashed, and I moaned, finally shuddering with one last, it had to be the last, I couldn't go on any more, wash of heat, but no, your roughened knuckle rubbed back and forth across me as the hand behind my back tilted my hips upward that fraction more to bring you so firmly against my very walls that each completed stroke sent a spike of wonderful pain and ache through me, your own cries of my name in my ear becoming louder, penetrating the rush of blood in my ears that clouded all senses but touching and being touched. And then you filled me one last time, with one last bite at my shoulder and one last firm pass of your knuckle, and anything you had drawn from me before was just an echo of the cry of completion that erupted from me as your life spurted into me, your own call of my name re-naming me, re-making me, calling me home.


	50. Chapter 50

50.

A rumble of thunder and a crackle of lightning, sounding like anti-aircraft munitions, was enough to wake me while I cracked an eye open to check that it was just raining. It was, the light dimmer because of it, and I couldn't remember if I'd left the window in the living room a little open, so I pulled away from you and went out to check. I did, but the rain hadn't come in yet, so I shut it and came back to the bedroom.

Your bruises from those firefights and falls were starting to fade, only the ones at neck, elbow and wrist from the needles still fresh, dark reminders. You were finally getting your feet back under you, balance-wise, and while I don't doubt you're still feeling as dizzy internally as you have been, you can learn anything you set your mind to, and you'd set your mind to learning how to work around it. You're still pale, too many of the fragile blue lines that carry your blood still visible beneath your skin, not just the ones that have always been faintly visible, on the insides of your wrists and the hollow of your throat, those delicate vessels that carry your pulse and beat firmly when you're feeling some strong emotion or you've just fought someone and helped me cuff them.

Your color is better, but it ebbs and flows. That light pink flush that suffuses you when you laugh, or you're thinking about something happy, or you've just eaten and finished a big cup of tea, or the warmer pink of your cheeks and your chest when we're making love are beautiful signs, but like the sunset, your color fades when you're tired, or need to eat, or angry, or scared, leaving you pale, the blue veins and bruises stark reminders, the shadows gathering under your eyes, the draw of skin across elbow and rib, ilia and ulnae a prominent reminder of how stark things can look when the sun goes down.

My beautiful day and night Bones. I think you're beautiful in any light, but I hope you'll forgive me if I say I prefer the sunshine Bones to the moonlit one.

- - -

"Is it supposed to rain all day?" I was watching the rain spatter against the bathroom window, lying against your chest in the bath, the heat of the water steaming the mirror and part of the window.

"Mmmm. Most of it. Supposed to let up toward the end of the day." Your fingers were tracing my navel, dipping in and out then following the curve of my hip to the line of my thigh, trailing up my leg to the knee I'd hitched over the edge of the tub.

"We should call Jack and Angela, have supper or something." I watched your fingers circle my patella before descending again toward where my leg emerged from the water.

"If you like. Parker was asking about them, I thought maybe we could figure out something for the five of us to do tomorrow afternoon or evening."

I stroked my hand along the arm you were holding me to you with, elbow at your waist and forearm bent to cross my stomach and chest, your palm flat and firm over my heart, the milky water trailing down the lines of your muscles as I followed them to your wrist, your talented hand holding me to you.

"Well, that too, but we haven't seen them outside the lab, just the four of us, in a while. Nothing strenuous, maybe just dinner at the bistro or Anamaria's and then a drink at O'Reilly's? They still haven't been, and Ange was looking kind of wistful the other day when Clark was telling us about the last time he and Sweets and the ladies went."

"I still can't get over Sweets. I mean, the kid's still a nerd to the nth power, but that Anne's putting some steel in his spine. Makes him eat, too, he was always too skinny for field work, but if he wanted to go out now, he could probably make the minimum weight range."

"I didn't think he wanted to. And by the way? Nth power? That's a pretty nerdy thing to say."

"Not nerdy. Professorial and dignified." You squeezed me when I snorted at your over-protesting. Face it, you're a nerd, too. "I never really talked with him about it—but I sort of figured he might. He's always so eager to meet us off site, to come to the lab, to get out of his office."

"It's nice that he and Clark and Amelia and Anne are so friendly. Sweets has some friends from university he keeps in touch with, but they're all academics and some of them are condescending about his job. Those other three understand what he's trying to do, don't accuse him of sacrificing intellectual purity for money. As if the FBI pays psychologists well. He does it because he wants to be helpful."

"Really? How'd you know all that?"

"He comes by mid-morning sometimes and brings cheese sticks to share with me in my office. I think he misses us."

We talked some more, sloshing around in the tub and you refilling it as the water cooled. You laughed at me when I sat up to find my pumice stone so I could work on the callouses on my feet, then whined when I scratched it against the knee you'd left sticking out of the water while you kept poking me.

"What do you even need to do that for? Your feet are perfect. You don't need to go scrubbing at them with sandpaper."

Clearly, you have never worn high heels. I slid down your chest a bit, resting my head on your stomach, so I could raise my leg closer and demonstrate, pointing to the foot I'd pointed into the air. "See, there are differences in weight distribution points between walking in bare feet, in regular shoes, and in high heels. With heels, the skin on the balls of a woman's feet and at the base of the large toe thicken, as well as at the pad at the base of the phalanges. The callous is useful, but if allowed to grow too thick, it becomes stiff and painful, and can crack. Removing some of the excess skin alleviates the discomfort, while still leaving enough tissue to be useful."

You'd been silent as I lectured and scrubbed at my feet, then let out a mock snore as soon as I put my other leg back in the water. Fine, be that way. I splashed some water back at you as you mock-snored again, and I must have gotten some up your nose the way you spluttered and jerked, your arm around me tightening as you grumbled, "Bones, you're such a baby."

"I thought you liked calling me baby," I retaliated, as I let my hand under the water find the back of your thigh, and walk my way up to the hollow behind your knee.

There's a spot, right between those two tendons, and if I press it, oh, there it is, it's like a direct nerve runs between that spot and your penis, it just shoots to attention, not that it's really that hard to get your attention anyway, but really, it's rather amusing, and if I press it again, there, "Unnnnhhhhh, Boooooonnnnesssss, knock it off." Right, Booth, because really, that's what you want, you don't want me to pull myself up to sit, then kneel, oh good, no headrush, I really am getting the hang of this, and turn and reach down beneath the water to grasp you, my hand closing around you as I tug at you, gently but firmly, until you clench your jaw and groan, your eyes closed.

I slid my hand forward beneath your armpit so I could grab hold of the edge of the tub behind you to balance myself as I knelt forward, then circled your shaft, my thumb and first two fingers sliding slowly, with pressure, down the length of you, then returning to the head of your penis, as your hands gripped the sides of the tub and your breath caught when I stroked the pad of my thumb over your glans, then let to you stroke you quickly again, my fourth and fifth fingers stroking the underside of your scrotum as I stroked my thumb down the sensitive underside of your shaft.

I bent forward a bit, leaning into the arm I was bracing myself with, and excellent, no headrush still, stopped just short of your chest, then let my mouth seal over one nipple as I closed my hand around you again and pulled, while I nipped at you, pulling another moaned "Bones," from your throat as I tasted your skin, salty and full of your essence beneath the sweet notes of the milk bath. I continued to stroke you as I kissed my way up your chest, nipping hard at your shoulder as I pressed my thumb harder across the head of you, your abdomen and buttocks jerking forward toward me, involuntarily, then bit and sucked my way up your throat, pausing to press on your adam's apple with my tongue before making my way up to your jaw, and then over to your ear as I sped my hand's motion along you.

"Do you like that, baby?" I breathed in your ear, then took your earlobe between my teeth, lightly sucking it even as I nibbled at the flesh, my fingers now cupping your scrotum as I rubbed my thumb at the base of your shaft in the place where if I apply just enough pressure, you either come right away depending on how long I've been teasing you, or, yes, you groan and your eyes open, dark with need and determination, and growl "Just a little," before lifting me by the waist and pulling my knees to either side of you so I can straddle you.

Your hand slipped between us to part my folds as you slid into me, your eyes closing, your voice groaning my name as I whimpered out yours, "Seeley, oh, Booth, oh, yes," and we regained that first sense of completion at coming together all over again—that sense that catches me always by surprise even as I always look forward to it, yearning for the next time. The hand you parted me with came up beside me, as you pulled my arm from its grip on the edge of the tub, then settled your hand at the nape of my neck, urging me to rest my head on your shoulder as you slid down in the water, your knees behind me as I shifted further around you, your thickness and heat filling me, spreading me, completing me. I wrapped one arm behind you as I grasped the opposite shoulder from where I laid my head. One arm at my waist, one hand cradling my head, you pulled away even as I levered my knees to begin to move with you, sighing again as you filled me, our chests sealed together as the water lapped around us, and we came home again.

I may be Bones and Temperance to the rest of the world, but I'm only Joy when I'm with you.

- - -

I called Angela while you were huffing your way through that breakfast burrito Sid made for you. Someday, I will figure out what magical powers he has to keep cut avocado fresh, and not turning all black and slimy while sitting in a takeout countainer.

"Angela."

"Booth! Hi, how is she, how are you?"

"We're alright, fine, really. Are you and Prince Jack maybe up for dinner tonight? Bones thought Jack might want to go to that bistro—she says they have an escargot special my brother just won't want to pass up."

She laughed aloud, then held the phone away to confer. "He said to tell you he bets he can eat more than you can."

"They're bugs, Angela. I'm not taking that challenge."

She repeated my comment, and I heard him call "King of the Lab!" in the background. Still laughing and '_eewing_' all at once, she returned. "Do you have anything in mind for after dinner?"

"We did, actually, thought we'd make it a full double date night. A friend of Bones' from out of town is at O'Reilly's this weekend with his band, and you kids haven't been exposed to the whole sordid spectacle that is a hundred drunken cops hanging on her every last song note. It's a wonder to behold."

"I'd like that," she said. "I'm sure we'll collect lots of data to process." She laughed at her own inner squint coming out, then continued. "You know, don't you, that she sings most when you're around?"

"Damnit, Angela, I just used up all the tissues in the house. Knock it off, for crying out loud."

"I love you too, you big lug. We'll meet you there at 7? I'll call about reservations."

"Sounds good. It's a little dressy, but that's okay, we'll class up O'Reilly's for once."

"Looking forward to it, bye."

You just smiled as you handed me a tissue, but laughed when I honked my nose. What? I'm a guy. I don't do ladylike nose-blowing.

- - -

The rain cleared up around 4:30, while you lay back against my chest between my legs on the sofa, and corrected my pronunciation of _Veinte poemas_, which I'll admit is terrible. Like I said, surveillance reports and maps don't give you an ear for the language. You'd pulled the second throw over my feet while I read, concluding correctly that this weather bugs the crap out of my joints, feet especially. When I finished, you tilted your head back to kiss my chin, then sat forward and pushed yourself up.

"More tea for me, want some ice cream, too?"

"Won't I spoil my supper?"

You stuck out your tongue at me as you stopped after standing to get your bearings, then headed over to the kitchen. "I think that's a scientific impossibility. Rocky Road, Chocolate Fudge Brownie Chunk, or Dutch Orange Chocolate? I have some orange liqueur I could drizzle over it, I've been thinking about a new pudding recipe, so I've got some candied orange peel and glaceed fruit I want to try out."

"Well, then, I will let you recipe test on me, if it's all for the cause of pudding-kind."

You laughed and came back with a bowl, handing it over the back of the couch, then walked back to pour over the water that just came to boil.

"Mmmpph. Oh, my God, Bones, if you make this into pudding? I will, well, I'll think of something."

A smile lit your face as you walked back over, one hand trailing the back of the couch as you concentrated on not sloshing your tea. You set it down on the table, then lowered yourself back onto the sofa at my feet. I was wondering what you were doing when you scooted over and picked my feet up, then slid underneath and let them rest in your lap, before settling the throw again over both of us, and putting your feet up on the table.

"Warmer," you said, pulling your cup up to sip at your tea, blowing away the steam before drinking again, then lowering the cup, your hands resting atop my ankles, the heat of the cup seeping through the blanket. You took another few sips, your hands clasped around the mug, then set it aside as you turned to look at me, a serious and curious look in your eye.

"Want a footrub?"

"Really?"

"No. I enjoy watching my husband be uncomfortable. Of course, really."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

- - -

As much as you whine when you get a cold or a splinter, or complain that you're "_starving_," when you've eaten less than an hour prior, you never complain about the things that really hurt you, from your asinine brother to real physical pain, even when your body tells me you hurt as you soldier onward. Because that's it, isn't it? Soldiering onward? I understand it, I do it in my own way, and sometimes there's nothing for it, but there's no reason why you have to put up with the discomfort all the time.

There's not much to be done for the ache of healed-over breaks, but increasing the circulation, massaging away the swelling that changes in barometric pressure bring, soothing the muscles that tense up in response to the increased pain can all relieve the overall level of discomfort, ameliorate the present pain. I let my hands explore you lightly, comparing under my fingers where each break was against the mental image I'd saved of those x-rays, seen so many years ago, when I was just starting to love you.

You made a crack once about having "old man's feet," but they're not. They're the feet of a warrior. Each ridged and knobbed metatarsal, calloused with bone scar, each crooked toe never again to rest at quite the right angle, each red and swollen joint is a secret untold, a promise unbroken, a trust left firm-rooted. I let the palms of my hands warm each heel and arch, as I pressed my thumbs gently across each gnarl, each bump, each crooked angle, and circled my fingers, pressing downward lightly, around each red swelling, stroking and warming the skin until the small muscles relaxed, pausing to milk the tissues back up toward the ankles, so the swelling could drain. I continued, repeated, until the muscles between each metatarsal were pliable, your poor toes uncurled as much as they could, and the redness and swelling was all but gone, then rotated your ankles as I pushed the fluid past them to be carried and drained away. It took a while to do, to make sure everything was warming and straightening and yet not cause further discomfort, but you didn't flinch or inhale as I worked, and when I finished, I surveyed my work—much better. I pulled your socks back on and patted your ankles, once again clad in their soft, warm, garish covering, then pulled at your arm so you'd turn around so I could hold you to my chest. "Shh. Sweetheart, Seeley, it's alright."

"It wasn't before," you said, your tears soaking into my shirt, "but it is now."

"I know, sweetheart, I love you, my Seeley." I said, as I stroked your head and let you cry yourself out, holding and soothing you the same way you did as I wept after you made love to me the first time. It can be hard to let someone love you so much.

- - -

"Do you want me to iron anything for you?"

"Just check—is that teal cashmere wrap dress in the closet rumpled?"

"No, it's fine!"

"Then just hang it up, please. There's a matching silk slip, somewhere, too."

"Got it." I went out to the living room to press my shirt, and when I came back, you were smearing green goo onto your eyelids. I mean, it looks nice, but still, definitely, green goo. "Bones, what is that, pond slime?"

"Hah, hah. It's crushed malachite. Nice boxers, by the way."

I looked down—green and orange and pink stripes, and matching socks. "I thought so."

You just shook your head.

"I'm going to go blind trying to fold all your laundry one of these days—I'm sure you have colors in your underwear drawer not actually present on the visible spectrum."

"Yeah, baby, but what a way to go."

"Just as long as you're the one explaining to the Board of Directors why I'm blinded by hideous underwear."

"Bones, it's _my_ hideous underwear, they'll understand."

- - -

You were getting quieter in the bathroom after putting on your dress and going back in with twenty pounds' worth of necklaces, so I went in to see what was going on. Oh. They all hung too low, and the bruise in the hollow of your clavicle at the base of your neck from the anaesthesia line on Tuesday was still visible, even darker against the contrast of the color of the dress. Your eyes were watering. Oh, sweetheart.

"Hold on there, Bones," I said, then ducked back into the bedroom to rummage around on the top shelf of my closet. Where the hell did I put it? Oh, yeah, here it is. And the… yeah, there they are.

"Close your eyes, Mrs. Booth," I said, sticking my head around the corner to make sure you were listening. Okay, good, at least you're humoring me.

"There," I said, when I was done, and made sure it settled right over the bruise. It was shorter than the ones you usually wore, more of a choker, really, but when I saw it I thought you would like it anyway, and now, it was just the right length. Good. You opened your eyes and smiled. "A Mali Wedding Necklace?"

"From a little Fulani lady who sells at the Mall sometimes. Here, earrings, too."

You turned and gave me an "_I love squinty jewels_," kiss that knocked my hideous socks right off.

- - -

Our little family was just coming up the walk to the bistro as we were, so we got all the hugging and kissing out of the way before we went in. I swear, marrying you has made me handsier than all the people in all of France.

- - -

"Eeeeeuuugh." Jack just snickered and pulled another escargot out of its shell and popped it into his mouth, as Angela laughed and speared one of her own.

You smirked at me, before teasing, "Booth, they're snails. They're a delicacy."

"Still. Snails are bugs."

You picked one out of its shell with the fancy little fork they came with, and dangled it in front of your mouth. "They're drowned in butter and garlic and parsley, they're delicious. Lots of calories…" Bones, you did not just dare me to eat bugs because of the calorie content, did you? You did, you just pushed that silly fork at me. I looked a little closer. They _were_ drowning in butter. I swear, the things I do for love.

"Mmmph. Hey, these aren't bad."

- - -

We'd only had a bottle of wine between the four of us at dinner, and the bistro wasn't too far to walk, on good sidewalk, so I gave in when you insisted we not burn fuel driving four blocks over to O'Reilly's. You and Angela always lock arms or hold hands when you're gossiping anyway, and she shot me a look over her shoulder to make sure I knew she wasn't going to let you go, so we let the two of you head up a few feet in front of us, your heads bent toward one another.

"How you doing, man?" Jack is the master of genteel yet manly emotional inquiry—vague enough that you can dodge the question if you really want.

"Okay, actually. She's alright, now."

"She looks like she let go of something."

"She did. A bunch of stuff. Well, let me hold it, instead."

He nodded, shot me a glance, clapped me on the shoulder, and said "work shared," before changing the subject to possible plans for tomorrow with Parker. Jack, he's my kind of guy.

- - -

"Bren, what happened to Booth?"

"They broke his feet in Iraq. I gave him a footrub today."

Her arm through mine tightened as she sniffled, then bent to kiss my cheek.

- - -

We caught up to you a half-block before O'Reilly's, the noise from the closed windows and doors still spilling out into the air. It was still early, and I judged the band hadn't come yet, so we'd have some time to sit before things started getting rowdy. Jack raised an eyebrow at the level of noise, but smiled as I shrugged. "It's a bar, with lots of drunk cops." Ange, however, was bouncing with excitement at a new social scene to conquer. I opened the door and peeked in before opening the door and ushering you in, hand at your back.

Billy's "Temperance!" was quickly followed by your father's "Pumpkin!" as you came into view in the doorway, and Jack and Angela followed. You smiled and headed over behind the bar to give Billy a peck on the cheek, as I took in the scene, your dad wearing a version of Billy's white shirt, necktie, bar apron and jeans. He was ratting bottles of beer into the coolers below the taps in between pulling pints, and handing down bottles too far up for Billy to reach as Billy mixed drinks. Charming bastard that he is, he was chatting and laughing with the cops lined up waiting, not nearly as deep as they'd be if Billy was tending alone, pushing across beers and ringing out tabs. No one batted an eyelash as Max Keenan, Vigilante Murderer of Corrupt FBI Directors, poured out their beers, dispensed pretzels, and danced around Billy, taking care of pretty much everything poor Billy really was too old to lift, while Billy did what he did best, which was dispense blarney and size up the drink most surely designed to cure your ills.

"Mr. O'Reilly," you said, your eyes sparkling. "Is he minding his manners?"

"Oh, Mrs. Booth, love," he laughed, patting your cheek, "he's fast as the devil and they're all too scared of him not to pay their tabs full, or complain about the stingy pours I keep telling him to make. It's a blessing you sent me young Maxwell here." Your dad just laughed as Billy ruffled his hair when he ducked past him with a tray of glasses to go back to the dishwasher. Billy turned to me then, his hand at your back, his eyes narrowing the moment your back was turned, then smiled and said, "Boothy, my boy, you've not yet introduced me to this handsome twain."

Jack and Ange picked their jaws up off the floor rather quickly, I'll given them credit. If you hadn't told me what you were up to with your dad and Billy, I'd have had a heart attack, walking in here to see him behind the bar. But you're right—they're really two of a kind, and it was nice to see Billy not hustling so much. Weekends are hard, and not everyone will get up and go pitch in like Sully or Mel when it gets crowded.

Taking Angela's arm, I stepped forward a bit, Jack following. "Billy O'Reilly, rascal of the district and Dublin and all points in between, this is Angela Montenegro, forensic artist and computer whiz extraordinaire, and her fiancé, Dr. Jack Hodgins, expert in bugs, slime, and all things disgusting. Angela and Jack are our best woman and man, and to punish them, we thought we'd bring them here."

Billy led you back out to me, until I replaced his hand at your back, then shook hands with Jack and bowed low over Angela's hand. "Well, any friends of my Temperance and Seeley are welcome and welcomer, let these two show you their booth, and Maxwell or I'll be soon over." Then, doing what he does best, he sized up the four of us, and said, "Twenty year Barra, I think, and perhaps the Waterford for four such good friends." Jack started, and Ange's eyes widened, but Billy? He knows his stuff—he's like Sid, except just with alcohol. We led the way over to our table, where Mel and Evan and their boyfriends were sitting. As we approached, Mel laughed and called out, "We were just keeping it warm for you!" They slid out as we arrived, and I made introductions for Jack and Angela as you made the acquaintance of Mel's Arthur and Evan's Dean, the four of them having been all out on the dance floor the last time we were here, and you having only smiled at them in passing. Mel slugged me on the shoulder as they walked over to another booth occupied by some guys from Intel, who laughed and made room as Mel jerked his head over at us.

Your dad pulled down the Waterford and wiped out the glasses while Billy rooted around in the whiskey cabinet, before finding what he was looking for. He patted your dad on the arm, then loaded up a tray with the glasses and bottle before bustling over to us, setting everything down and pouring out the first round before shooting me a "_You come see me later_" look I knew better than to ignore. When he left, Jack picked up his glass, we three following, and meeting one another's eyes, said "family" in unison and downed the first shot, sweet, and burning, and bracing.

- - -

The nice thing about drinking in a bar full of cops is they can usually tell when you're not ready to talk, and leave you alone until you look up and take in the room again. So we four were able to have our second and third rounds, settling tomorrow's plans for an outing with Parker, and just laughing about nothing important, before they two eased in their seats and started looking around the room, curious. We took turns pointing out various people and couples, and I noticed some had brought in their spouses and partners who didn't used to. I just felt bad that Declan might not get to dance with Kevin, but it looked like people'd taken it to heart.

Then, speak of the devils, the band started coming in, and you explained how you knew Kevin and Declan as I caught your dad's eye to let him know we'd need another round soon. The two came in lugging equipment, Declan's eye lighting up as he saw us in the corner, his eyes then narrowing as he took you in further, then shooting me a look. You were laughing at something with Angela about her own "chivalrous" boyfriends, and missed it, but Jack caught the exchange and shot me a look. "Been a while," was my only response. You gave them a wave, and when they'd done bringing their things in, each took their turn coming over to say hello, Kevin giving me the mirror look to his Declan's.

"Brennan, my dear," said Declan, "you'll give us '_The Lakes of Pontchartrain_' and maybe a '_Danny Boy_' too, won't you?" You smiled, and promised, and he nodded, while accepting the card I slipped him under the table with my office information, which I gathered he wanted so he could quiz me further when you weren't around.

Your dad headed over with a round of Smithwick's for all, leaning in across the table to plant a kiss on your forehead, then shot me a wink before he headed off, plunking down more beers, collecting empties, and trading insults with the regulars like he'd worked there forever. Strange bedfellows, indeed.

- - -

Angela claimed me for a reel after the band finished warming up, laughing as she kept trying to lead, and stepping on my feet. "I like that necklace," she said, eyes sparkling yet serious, "it's the right length. You keep doing that."

I would never contradict a Montenegro. She sees-- everything.

- - -

"Doctor Double-B., may I have the pleasure of your company on the floor?" asked Jack, as the band slowed to a mid-tempo tune, not slow, but not all the whirling and twirling you and Ange had been doing. He slid out and handed me out of the booth, gallant and funny as ever, his hand at my mid back until we reached the floor and I put my arm on his shoulder, letting him lead through the tune. At one point we turned and both caught a glimpse of the two of you toasting a new round of scotch—Billy must have brought a new bottle after we'd left the table.

"He's smiling like Parker," he said, "you keep doing that."

I would never contradict a Hodgins—he's a keen observer.

- - -

It had been only two? three? weeks since we'd last been in, but again, cops are observant, so the ones who asked you to dance did so only at slow and mid tempo songs, Mel, then Evan, then D.J. from D.C., waiting so you sat down a song or two between dances. Billy came over to claim you for one, then he took a turn with Angela, who proved quite popular, as did Jack, who'd made friends with Linda from Raleigh and her girlfriend, who I guess is a lab tech in Durham. You took a turn with Declan at '_Danny Boy_' right before the band's first break, again not a dry eye in the house, then he escorted you back as your father came over with a plate of snickerdoodles. "Here, Pumpkin, have a snack," he said.

You laughed, replying, "I didn't know cookies were the appropriate complement to beer and scotch," but took one and broke it in half, offering the other to Angela, who laughingly dunked hers into her scotch before taking a bite. Her eyebrows went up, then, before saying, "Not bad!"

Jack laughed, said, "That's disgusting," and immediately broke a cookie in half before dipping it in his drink. He turned thoughtful as he chewed. "Actually, that's quite good."

This, I had to try. Hmm—actually, yeah, they really go together.

- - -

I was looking over at the taps, watching your dad at work, doing all the heavy lifting we all hated seeing Billy try to do, so I caught the way the people sitting just inside the door hushed, as whomever was behind it came into sight. Oh, that's why.

Sam Cullen hove into view, and the silence that pooled at the door stole into the room as he walked over to the bar to order a drink, his eye on your dad all the while. He's still sharp enough that I think only the four of us, plus your dad and Billy, caught his wink.

He pulled up right in front of your father, who looked back at him calmly, both of their faces expressionless. By this time, a veritable hush had fallen over the bar, as those who didn't know better wondered what would come of this seeming first encounter.

"Keenan," Sam began, his eyes narrowing.

"Cullen," your father responded, a glint in his eye.

"Do you have something to say, about why you're here?" If it could have gotten any quieter, there would have been a black hole.

Your dad's eyes narrowed, as he slowly reached down under the bar, maintaining eye contact with Sam all the while. "You're late," he said, tossing an apron at Sam with a wink and a smile, "and it's time for my break."

Sam roared as he took of his jacket, loosened his tie, and pulled on an apron before joining your father and Billy behind the bar, shaking hands as he laughed.

I've never seen a more dumbstruck room in my life.

- - -

After your father came over to join us, shift drink in hand, I went over to return the empty bottles and talk to Billy. Sam was cursing out the Intel guys heckling him for lousy boilermakers.

"Boothy, my boy, now you're taking as care of my Temperance as can be taken, aren't you?"

"I'm trying, Billy, but time will tell." He sighed, and shook his head, and squeezed my arm, handing me another round of beers as he sent me back over to you. Max and Angela headed out for a reel as the band started again, and your hand came to my knee as I slid back in next to you. "Tired?"

"A little," you said, "maybe just a half hour more?" I nodded, and squeezed your hand under the table as we watched Sam cut in on your father, and your father cut in on Mel to dance with Mel's Arthur. I hope I move like your dad when I'm his age.

Declan shot you a look toward the end of the song, so I slid out as you nudged me. "Just this one, and we'll finish our drinks and then go," you murmured, as I walked you over to the stool Declan'd already set out, then sat to the side as you started '_The Lakes of Pontchartrain_.' As you sang the first stanza, "_'Twas on one bright March morning/__I bid New Orleans adieu./__And I took the road to Jackson town,__ /__my fortune to renew/ I cursed all foreign money, /__no credit could I gain/ Which filled my heart with longing for__/ __the lakes of Pontchartrain," _couples came out on the floor, but more were quieting and listening as your sweet voice sang about the Creole girl who refused all suitors, waiting for her love to come back, and became the toast of all '_kind strangers_.' It was fitting. When you finished, there was a bit of a lull, then a roar of applause, before Kevin broke the mood with a deep bow of his bass, and launched into a fast-paced skirl.

I walked you back to the table, you holding my hand a bit as you sat back down, but everyone pretended not to notice, responding only with deep and solemn voices to Jack's next toast of '_Slainte_.'

Your father had a surprise up his sleeve, though, as it seems you Brennans all do, and right before I was ready to stand to hand you out, he leant in to whisper to Declan. Declan jerked his head to Kevin, and your father went to confer, smiling as Kevin nodded vigorously.

"Any idea, Bones?"

You smiled, equally confused. "None."

When the band ended their tune, your father shot me a wink, and said, "Booth knows what I mean," then paused as the band made its way through the intro. It was called the "_The Bold Robber,_" and though I'd never heard it before, it was perfect.

_Come you good people that go out a-tippling, / I pray you give attention and listen to my song. / I'll sing you a ditty of a jolly bold robber, /Stood seven foot high, in proportion quite strong._

_He robbed lawyer Morgan and old Lady Dawkins; /Five hundred bright guineas from each one of them; / And as he was a-strolling he spied a young sailor, /And bold as a lion he stood up to him._

_"Hand over your money, you saucy young sailor. / There's plenty of bulk in your pocket, I see." / "Aye, aye," says the sailor, "I've plenty of money, / But while I have life, well/ I've got none for thee._

_"I've just left my ship, give the press-gang the slip, / And I'm bound up to London my sweetheart to see. / With forty bright sovereigns for to pay our sweet lodgings, /So I pray you, bold robber/don't you take them from me."_

_But the robber caught hold of that gallant young sailor; / With a blow like a pole-axe felled him to the ground. / "Aye aye," says the sailor, "You have struck me quite heavy, /And now I'll endeavour to repay you in kind."_

_It was then both they stripped and like tigers they skipped, / And they fought blow for blow like to soldiers in the field. / At the ninety-seventh meeting it was very completing/ For this gallant young sailor the bold robber he killed._

_Then the sailor looked down on the bloodstained bold robber. / "I hope you'll forgive me, poor fellow," says he, / "But if I had just lifted a thousand bright guineas, / I'll be damned if I'd have stopped a poor sailor like me."_

Sam and Mel and Billy roared with laughter when your father finished singing, each of them and your dad raising a glass in my direction. "Never have, never will," I said, as we passed him on the way out the door, him pulling beers again as the night shift spilled in. "Never again," he replied, blowing a kiss in your direction and a wink my way.

Your dad and I, well, we have an understanding, see.


	51. Chapter 51

51.

You'd just gotten back into the car after buckling Parker back into his seat after Mass when he asked, "Daddy, why didn't you take Communion today?"

You flinched almost imperceptibly, and I doubt he saw it, but your jaw clenched, and you seemed stuck on what to say. Well, here goes nothing.

"Your dad had a stomachache earlier, so I told him it might be better to not eat anything at all until he felt better." He didn't need you know you hadn't yet gone to confession about Jamie Kenton. Perhaps when he was old enough to understand all the necessities of your job, but for now? It wouldn't help anyone to tell him the truth. If we told him you hadn't gone to confession, without further explanation, he'd want to know why you sinned.

He swallowed it whole. "Do you feel better now, Daddy?"

You shot me a relieved look, and replied. "Yeah, buddy, I do."

- - -

"Dr. Bones? Why are you getting dressed that way?" I was lying on the bed in my underwear, changing into warmer clothes for the afternoon's activities, when I heard his small voice from somewhere near the doorway. I rolled to the side, ooh, too fast, then rolled back and patted the side of the bed.

"Here, come sit where I can see you." He sat to the side, and took in the clothes I'd scattered over the top of the bed curiously.

"Remember how I said my medication might make me a little tired, or dizzy? Well, I get dizzy when I bend over or move too fast, so it's easier to do it this way so it doesn't take so long, and I can do it myself." He watched as I pulled my (okay, your) socks on and then my pants, pushing my hips upward until I could button them. Thank goodness for these moleskin pants, so soft and warm, that Angela'd bought me. The trousers I'd had on at church were too scratchy.

"Hand me that T-shirt, please?" I asked, pointing to the long-sleeved silk t-shirt I'd laid out. While he grabbed it, I turned to the side before pushing myself up. Ugh. Still too fast.

He watched as I pulled the shirt on, then crawled over to touch the bruise on my neck from the anaesthesia on Tuesday. "What's this from?"

"Needles from the doctor's office. I had a test earlier this week." I reached past him to grab the turtleneck I'd also set out. Fifty degrees and I was acting like I was going on an Arctic expedition.

"And the big one on your shoulder?" He pointed through the shirt to the one I'd gotten when you landed on top of me while shooting at Kenton. Booth, you need a refresher course in interrogation techniques from your son.

"Oh, that one's from work. Something was falling and I fell, getting out of the way."

He nodded. "Did Daddy kiss them to make them all better?"

"He sure did."

Parker got a thoughtful look, then said, "They're still dark. Do you want me to kiss them too?"

"I think that could be very helpful Parker, yes, please." He crawled over my lap to kiss the mark on my neck, then leant across to kiss the one under the fabric of my shirt.

"All better!" he said, with a smile.

"Thanks, Parker, I really appreciate it," I said. He gave me such a smile, "Do you think you could help me some more?" He nodded. "If you slide over there to the side, and you stand really still, I'm going to push down on your shoulder while I get up, okay?" He scrambled off the bed and waited while I scooted across to the edge, then lowered my legs to the floor. Okay, good, and the hand on the kid's shoulder, and I'm up, and not wobbling. Righteous. (C'mon, Bones.) (What? I like it! It's a good word!)

I ruffled his hair. "Thanks so much, pal, now let's go find your dad so we can go see Jack and Angela, alright?"

- - -

"Master Parker, how are you?" Jenkins intoned, squatting down and extending his palm to your son. "Cool, Mr. Jenkins, I'm cool!" he replied, before slapping Jenkins fire. (Five, Bones, five.)

"Parker, you should ask Mr. Jenkins how he is, too, please."

"Sorry, Bones. How are you, Mr. Jenkins?" The man in question laughed, then solemnly responded. "I, too, am cool. Thank you for asking."

He stood, then offered Parker his hand. "Am I to understand that you have specially requested my grilled cheese and french fries Parker special for lunch?" Parker jumped a little, yelling, "Yes! With the extra gooey cheese in the middle! Please?"

"Well, of course," Jenkins responded, "and know what?" He shot us a smile over his shoulder. "I'll race you there." And then he was off, Jenkins walking just quickly enough to make Parker think he was being followed.

"Hey, Bub, don't get lost in here!"

I laughed as he yelled back, "Daddy, downstairs, two rights and a left!" See? Parker knows how to ask for directions.

- - -

"Uncle Jack! What's that? Is that another house?"

Parker was crouched down in front of another snake hole. We'd rowed across the big lake rather than walk all the way around ("What do you mean it's a mile and a half to walk around?" you'd bellowed.)-- Parker loved the boat ride, Angela and I pointing out kinds of trees and you and Jack each taking an oar, and giving one another a hard time, claiming the other wasn't rowing hard enough. It was cool and cloudy, but yesterday's rain hadn't resumed, and we'd judged it would be one of the last days when we could take him out all afternoon without him getting too cold.

When we'd landed, Jack had led us to the gate and fence line marking the conservation property, and answered Parker's nine thousand questions about land conservation.

"But, you could build lots of houses here!"

"That's right, kid, you could, but there are already lots of houses here." Parker gazed around, totally confused.

"It's all trees! And rocks! There aren't any houses!"

Jack shook his head. "There aren't any people houses, but there are lots of houses for plants, and birds, and bugs, and animals."

"Where?" He was peering around, highly suspicious.

Jack took his hand, and led him forward. Pointing, he said, "See that leaf there, with the red bumps underneath? That's a house for baby caterpillars. They stay there until spring, before they're born. And see that dead tree, there?"

"I do!"

"Well, that's a house to owls and bats."

"Yeah!"

And off they went, Jack showing Parker snake and salamander burrows, insect cocoons, spiderwebs and mushroom colonies. There was a beaver den about a quarter-mile in, Parker oohing and aahing about all the felled trees. The three of us followed more slowly, held up by my pace, but laughing at Parker's antics, as you groaned at his "Eeew! That's disgusting! Show me more!"

When Jack flipped over an old rotten log, sending frogs, insects, and chipmunks scattering, Parker let out a deep-breathed "Cooooool." For each explanation, Parker had a dozen more questions, and by the time it was time to turn back, he'd memorized how to pronounce _Amystoma Maculatum_, Jack's beloved salamanders. He was fascinated by the slime trail left by a slug, which led to his asking the difference between snails and slugs, which then led to "what's an exoskeleton?" and by the time we'd reached the boat, he had decided that "I LOVE INBERTEBRATES!"

"Invertebrates, bub, v, not b," you said, muttering "what have I done?" under your breath, as Parker ran back with some dessicated insect pupae for use to examine.

"Don't worry, Booth," Angela laughed, "he'll grow out of it when he discovers girls."

You laughed. "Hodgins didn't-- Parker'll be squinty and randy at this rate. Just what I need."

Jack, who'd swung Parker up on his shoulders by this time, turned back with a smile on his face. "I've never had any complaints, and I've ... examined a lot of data, shall we say?"

"What's data, Jack?"

- - - -

Jack's a good cook, but I wasn't up to spaghetti and meatballs, so I had apples and peanut butter while the four of you practiced twirling spaghetti.

"Why aren't you having any, Bones? Spaghetti is awesome, and mom says it's rude not to eat what you're offered."

"Parker! You shouldn't ever say someone is rude in front of other people, and especially since you didn't even let Bones explain. That's what's rude, Parker. You should always let people explain themselves before you make up your mind." You were looking really annoyed, and Parker just looked confused, and ready to ask another question, like one of the many he'd asked me that day-- why you and Jack had to hold my hands getting in and out of the boat, why I was walking more slowly than everyone else, why does it bruise when they stick needles in, does being dizzy feel like when you spin him around in the air, and on, and on. I'd answered his questions and his inevitable follow-up questions, but suddenly, it was too much.

"Excuse me," I said, pushing back from the table and heading out to the hallway, holding onto the counter for balance.

"Bones?"

"I'll be back." I kept going, not looking back, and let the door shut behind me as I made my way toward the stairs. Of course, the problem with old houses is higher ceilings, which means taller staircases, which meant there were twenty stairs in front of me I didn't want to tackle on my own. Sighing, I lowered myself to sit, and leant my head against the banister, closing my eyes. It had been a lovely day, but I'd been up since seven without a nap, and I was tired. Well, I'd just sit here until I regained my composure, then head back to finish my supper.

"Temperance?" I opened an eye.

"Hello, Jenkins." His shirts are as loud as your socks. Well, at least we know what to get him for Christmas.

"Taking refuge from the Master Inquisitor?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I was having some herbal tea and watching the game down the hall. Would you care to join me for a cup?" He offered an arm. I wondered if Jack had learned his gallantry from Jenkins, how long they'd known each other. I pushed myself up, but overcorrected, and fell forward, but Jenkins caught me immediately, turning so my hand was laced through his arm.

"Shall we?" he said, pretending as if nothing had happened.

"Lead on, kind sir," I replied. As if I had much of a choice.

- - - -

Parker set back to his spaghetti when you said you'd be back, but after ten minutes or so, I started to wonder. Ange gave me a _'I'll go look in another few minutes_' look, and then followed through, returning a few minutes later with an 'it's okay' look on her face, though there was something else there, too. So we finished our supper, Ange setting out a plate of cookies.

Parker took a cookie, then suddenly looked around. "Where's Dr. Bones?" He looked under the table, like you'd been hiding under there the whole time.

Angela looked at him calmly, then said "She went to take a nap, because she was tired."

"But she said she'd be back!"

"Bub, she's still here, she's just napping, okay? Chill out."

"I'll go wake her up and bring her some!" he said, proceeding to scoot forward off his chair. Crap.

Angela came to my aid. "Parker, you should leave her alone for now and finish your cookies."

"But Bones will want some! I want to bring her some!"

Angela shook her head. "No, Parker, she won't. Temperance is tired, and you shouldn't disturb her. It's wonderful that you love her company so much, but sometimes people want to be left alone when they're not feeling well, or are tired. You can't just go waking them up because you want their company. That's selfish. "

I don't think I'd ever seen Angela say anything so stern-- you must be really sacked out for her to be so strict. Stricter than me. I should have said something earlier-- he'd been at you all day, and you were pushing it with the walk we'd been on.

"Angela's right, bub. You just finish your cookies. If Dr. Bones wants some, we can have some at home later."

"Can I have more too?"

"We'll see, bub."

- - - - -

"Hey, Parks, c'mon up with me and Ange, we're going to play a quick game, okay?"

"Yeah!"

Ange and Jack both took an arm, and swung Parker between them up the stairs. Ange nodded over her shoulder, waving her hand in a "four" sign. Sure enough, four rooms down on the right, there was a faint noise of television and light coming through an open doorway. Sticking my head in, I saw Jenkins watching the game, you asleep on a couch in the corner.

"Thanks."

"No worries."

You were totally sacked out, and didn't even stir when I said "Hey, Bones," much less when I headed upstairs, to find the three of them playing "_who can be quietest_." God bless Angela. They kept playing while I got you in the car, Jack strapping Parks in while I checked your seatbelt.

"Thanks, guys. See you tomorrow," I whispered.

"Bye!" they whispered back, Parker following their lead.

- - - -

"Did I make Dr. Bones mad?" He whispered. Oh, lord.

"I don't think so Parker, but I'll tell you something. You did remind Bones that she was different from everyone else a lot today, and I think you might have hurt her feelings.

"I didn't mean to." His face was all crumpled in the rearview mirror.

"I know, Bub, just, listen, okay? You know you would never be mean on purpose to someone who's different, right?" He nodded. "Well, there's another part to that. There's nothing wrong with wondering why people are different, but sometimes, especially when people are different because they're sick or just because God made them different, it can hurt their feeling to be reminded that they're not like everyone else, that they can't do everything other people can."

"So I hurt Dr. Bones' feelings because I asked her why she was slow?"

"I think so, buddy. Look-- remember when you broke your arm?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"How did you feel when you couldn't play T-Ball?"

"Sad."

"Right. Well, Bones is sad because right now she can't do all the things she likes to do, and it bothers her when people remind her of that, because when she's feeling good, she's really fast and really strong. It's hard to not be."

He nodded, looking sad, and I wanted to tell him it was okay, but that wouldn't be the truth, if he was going to learn. So I left it at an "I love you, Bub," and set my eyes back on the road.

- - -

"Hey, Bones,"

"Mmph."

"Sorry, babe, I can't carry you and Parker and Parker won't wake up."

"No, s'alright. You get him, I'll get the coats and stuff."

"Sorry."

"Don't. S'alright."

- - -

"People! I know it's the week of Thanksgiving, but no matter _what_ Hollywood tells you, death does _not_ take a holiday! Now, is someone going to volunteer to explain how you would begin to evaluate the scene in the photos if it were a) a murder, b) a rape, c) a drug bust?"

I got nothing but blank faces. Of course, it's a trick question, you never look at a scene from only one angle, but still, how are they going to learn? Oh, for crying out loud. Well, here goes, one last try. Aha! A hand, albeit a shaking one. Whatever gets the discussion going, in this case, the EDG. You're right-- it _is_ all in the eyebrows. I practically sprained by forehead in the car on the ride over from the lab, practicing in the visor mirror at lights, but that last one I got in before I got out of the truck? I scared _myself_. And, I made it work in front of the class-- the EDG is _mine_, baby. Heh.

- - -

"Bones! Hey! Bones!"

"In Jack's lab!"

Figures-- the two of you were squinting at petrie dishes of goo.

"Sir Jack."

"Sir Seeley."

"What's new?"

"Further samples of the yet to be unclassified PCBs present in the tissue samples and spongiform bone. All five. And Kenton."

"Excellent. Have you cracked the classification yet?"

You shot me an ESL. "I was just waiting for you, so we could answer the phone together when the Commandant calls to complain, husband." Heh. Husband.

"You do love me."

"Of course. I would never upbraid an authority figure without letting you watch. I know you get your socks off that way."

"Rocks, Bones, not socks. But you can take my socks off, too, wife." That _is_ a goofy little grin. Righteous.

- - -

"Why aren't we calling from your office? You're the one who would get the warrant."

"The switchboard's better here."

"Chicken."

"I am not. Amelia's good, but I swear Shirley loses half my calls on purpose."

"Probably because her name is Sherill." What? How do you know that? Damn, Bones.

- - - -

You'd settled at your desk, and were punching up the DOD database to enter your name and password.

"Who's Guzman?" And why is _that_ your classified password?

"Not now." Your jaw was twitching. Wait. Your jaw was twitching? Serious shit, huh, Bones? "Bingo, baby," you smiled, entering some more keystrokes as the data started scrolling. Fine, I'll come back to the Guzman thing later.

"Quick, save it and print it before they kick you out." You gave me the '_I have done this before look_.' "Sorry, babe." Um, now you were giving me the '_no babe or baby in public look or I start talking about clowns again_' look. "Sorry, Bones."

You jerked your head to the printer just as your phone started ringing. Damn, they work fast.

"Temperance Booth-Brennan. Yes, hello Commandant, I was rather expecting your call." Your eyes were glinting with Bones' Special Amusement/Anger for Obnoxious Officials as you listened.

"Well, if you'd returned Special Agent Booth-Brennan's calls, I wouldn't have needed to access the database, and in any event, you are missing a key point, here." Oh, Bones, you did not. Yes, you did. You just slammed the Commandant. God, I love you.

"What you're missing, _sir_, is that somehow, the bone and epidermal tissues of five mafia hits and a corrupt FBI agent all bear significant traces of your classified, experimental submarine fuel, a fuel only used in your testing tanks, and yet, you somehow don't think that's a cause for concern. Whether you're concerned about your little fuel is irrelevant to me. We are trying to solve murders, which are clear evidence of a serious breach of security beyond the formulae for your precious fuel." Bones. You did not just say '_little fuel_.' You listened, and smiled, and said, "Well, we'll be available, along with my particulates expert, Dr. Hodgins, at three o'clock, and will meet you at your office."

Hanging up, you smiled and rubbed your hands. "Lunch?"

- - - -

"Jack," I barked. Startled, he looked up, catching my serious expression. "Get your stuff. Bones and I need your assistance in visiting a highly classified military installation, to discuss a highly classified military chemical substance, and to give us your expert opinion as to whether you can perform your analysis here, or in a secret, probably underground lab shielded from any outside detection."

Oh, Bones. He smiled more than when I called him 'alpha-and-half.' The look of joy on his face as he whispered "Field Trip?" Priceless.

Nodding solemnly, I confirmed. "Field trip."

Damn, he moves fast when he wants to give you a guy hug.

- - -

"Jack, you don't need a microscope in your kit. They'll have them."

"But... they might be compromised! I mean... you guys gave them two whole hours to recalibrate all the equipment! Who knows what they're hiding?!"

"Jack-- wouldn't it be more fun to uncover the flagrant attempt to compromise your objectivity than the other way around?"

"Oh, yeah."

I'd turned and started to walk out when he practically knocked me over.

"I love you, man!"

Damn, he moves fast when he wants to give you a guy hug.

- - -

Sid was standing behind the bar, cutting lemons or something, when we walked in for lunch. "Seeley, my man. And Dr. Jack Hodgins. And of course, the lovely Temperance. How you feeling, babe?"

"Sidney Lamont Charles. Do not call me babe."

Bones, _Lamont_? How do you find this stuff _out_?

"Sorry, T.B."

"Just don't let it happen again. And I'm feeling quite well, thank you."

My Bones. Always polite when you're chewing people's heads off. Except Jared. Heh.


	52. Chapter 52

Jack was bouncing up and down in the back seat like a kid at Christmas all the way over to the yard. You'd given him the material data printouts, and the two of you were babbling about synthetic hydrocarbons or something, but as soon as we pulled up to the gatehouse, Dr. Jumping for Joy turned into Dr. Dignified yet Suspicious, and he merely smiled as the guard checked his clearance.

- - -

The Commandant had apparently checked our clearance records better by the time we arrived at his office, because the temper he'd displayed to me over the phone was gone, and he was nothing but polite cooperation and occasional nervous glances at you, because you were wearing your '_Special Agent Really Annoyed You Didn't Return my Calls_' look, which really, is almost as good as the EDG. After you explained the case background, I explained the findings, and Jack explained the concentrations of the PCB present in the tissue and cancellous bone samples at the points of dismemberment, the Commandant made a few calls and offered to personally escort us to the appropriate section of the yard. Not surprising-- a compromised classified facility and multiple murder victims, corruption at the FBI and the mafia? He'd want this resolved as soon as possible.

Of course, the chairs in his office are too low and too deep, and I couldn't get enough leverage to get up on my own. I knew I shouldn't have sat down-- I could have sat on the arm, and now he's standing here watching you pull me out of the chair. Nice show of strength and capacity, Temperance. Oof, too fast, Booth. I gripped your arm and you stopped until I squeezed your arm again to let you know it was okay. I'm going to ignore the fact that Jack and the Commandant are looking at me. Okay, onward, bad guys to catch.

- - -

The Commandant introduced us to the lead engineer, scientist, and officer for the submarine project, then left us with a promise that all the employee and contractors with access to the facility would be made available for interviewing, with lists available by the time we finished our tour of the lab and experimental tank facilities. There were seven buildings holding the experimental and repair tanks, plus the building holding the lab and the offices, and I was glad we drove over from the Commandant's office-- the tour was going to be enough, since I'd been at work all day already.

The engineer, Mr. McCarthy, gave us a tour of the lab first, Jack's eyes lighting up at all the high-tech digital and chemical equipment, including some things we didn't have at our lab. I have a feeling he's going to want to do the initial particulates work here, Booth. It's not that often we get a chance to use better equipment than at the lab.

- - -

"Are the tanks refilled regularly?" Jack asked as he bent to take samples of the water in the fifth tank-- the findings in the tissues and cancellous bone indicated that the dismembered parts were at one point in contact with a saline solution containing the suspect PCB, so it was entirely possible that they were near or in the submarine tanks.

The engineer shook his head. "Only if they're leaking, which happens more than we'd like, and even then, it's a saltwater tap system-- no sense in using fresh when the buoyancy's a factor in the testing. We just take from the river here, it's still tidal at this point," he said, motioning overhead to some water pipes.

"Do you keep records of when they're refilled?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yes, the water meters should show, we can run readings." Jack stood, to indicate he was done, and the engineer motioned us through the door to walk to the next building.

Your eyes narrowed-- you were on to something. "Are all the tanks in use, right now?" Jack's head came around.

The engineer shook his head. "No, only one through five. It's budget time, and we're waiting on approval before we start the next round of testing." He opened the door to tank six, and indeed, it was empty, our steps echoing off the bare metal walls and roof as we walked in. And then I knew what you were on to.

"Can you tell us, if you know, when six and seven last were in use?" He looked at me, then answered.

"About a month and a half ago."

"And when were they last refilled?" Jack asked, bending down to take another sample, standing as he screwed on the cap and put it in his bag. You jumped in right after.

"What about records of when the buildings are accessed?"

The engineer looked thoughtful. "Well, they shouldn't be accessed if they're not in use, only Doctor Stevens, Lieutenant Hanley and I have key access when they're down. Hold on," he said, walking over to a powered-down computer. He booted it up, as I turned to look at you and Jack.

"When was the last time we heard from any of the Fratellis?"

"Not in a while...oh, you don't think..." you said, as you realized, yes, that's what I meant.

"They were kept somewhere before they were dumped." Jack was vibrating with excitement.

The computer beeped, and I walked over to stand behind the engineer as he began to access records. "This one hasn't been filled in a month and a half, no reason to if it's not in use. Let me check the access records." He pulled up another screen, and his expression turned to one of shock. "It says I've been in here fifteen times, as late as last Friday, but I haven't!" Last Friday? You killed Kenton last Tuesday.

"Fuck," you said. Fuck is right.

The three of us looked at each other, then Jack said what we all were thinking. "Yeah, I'm going to need some scuba gear in here."

- - - -

"Yeah, hi, Clark, it's Booth. Look, can you and Sully get over here to finish up a recovery? We found the rest of the Fratellis, and it's way past naptime for Bones." I said, as Jack heaved up another leg onto the tarps the engineer, Mr. McCarthy, had brought and you peered into the water, looking both curious and ready to pass out from exhaustion. I can't believe you didn't take a nap this morning at work, I don't care if you got an Edo era samurai in to verify. He's been dead three hundred years, he'll last another day.

"Hold on a sec, Clark, will you? Bones, don't bend over the water, goddamnit, get someone to get you a chair so you can take photos, for Christ's sake! If you fall in and drown, I will shoot you! Yeah, bring the van, gate seven, ask for Mr. McCarthy, they'll send someone out to meet you." I hung up and you were still crouched, peering into the water, and snapping photos of the remains now visible through the spotlights you'd had them bring in.

"Lieutenant!" I barked, and he started as his head turned toward me. Hah. Officers don't really know how to yell with any authority, at least not until they're majors, and Lieutenants are still basically privates-- they're still afraid of anyone who sounds like their drill sergeant, or whatever the hell they call them in the Navy. "Doctor Brennan could use a seat, now." He scurried off. Hah.

"Bones, goddamnit, will you please just humor me and get away from the water? And don't give me that pitiful version of an EDG. You're overdue for a snack and you're not getting the proper eyebrow elevation." Oh, shit, I'm sorry, baby, don't give me that hurt puppy look. Shit. It's just, you look all wilted and you're pushing too hard, I can't really help it. Okay, yeah, Jack, don't give me the bug and slime EDG, too, I know, I should shut up, or at least not yell at her across a submarine bay full of people.

"Sorry," I grumbled, as the Lieutenant came running back in with a chair. "Yeah, I got it, thanks there, man," I said, taking it from him and walking around over to you.

"Booth, I would prefer it if you did not broadcast my infirmity to all and sundry. It's already an insecure facility, I don't need some chief petty officer supplementing his income with a story about us squabbling at a crime scene," you hissed as I got within hissing distance.

Okay. Not going to yell at you when you're tired and cranky, not going to do it, I shouldn't have yelled in the first place. "You're right, I'm sorry," I tried, giving Jack a '_can you help me out here a bit_' look.

"Doctor Double-B, I'm almost done here, there's only three more arms, two torsos, three sets of gonads, and two heads to pull up, I'll be done in an hour, tops." Good man. Except, uck, with the gonads.

You sat back on your rear, oh God, that hurt puppy look again on your face. "Fine. I'll just sit until someone _capable_ comes along, and then Booth can put me in a cab with strict instructions for the cabbie to take me straight home and force feed me chicken soup."

"C'mon, Bones, don't be like that. You're the one who figured out where the rest of the bodies were. That's my job, you know." Oooh. Still not working, you just sighed and your eyes are watering. Jack pulled his regulator back on and ducked back under the water. Good man. He knows when to get lost.

I crouched down in front of you and lowered my voice. "Bones, you are more than perfectly capable. You found the PCB, you got us into the database, you figured out where the bodies were, we'd still be back at the lab scratching our heads and not getting anywhere if it wasn't for you. But you don't need to be here for this, you know that. If Zach were around, you'd have left him to finish the rest of the recovery at this point."

You just shook your head. "But Zach's not around, and Clark's not as good as Zach yet, and I should be able to do this, it's just standing or crouching and taking photographs..."

"Bones. You wouldn't have offered Clark the job if you didn't think he was capable, would you?" You shook your head. "And how's he going to learn if you insist on doing everything yourself?"

"He's not," you said, your voice small.

"So, see, you're actually doing part of your job, training Clark, by letting him come out to help."

"Stop being logical, that's my job," you grumbled. Okay, the hurt puppy look is gone, and the cranky Bones that I know and love is back in effect.

"Sorry. You get all gut instinct on me, I get to turn a little squinty. It's only fair." You snorted. Okay, good. "C'mon, Bones, upsy daisy." I stood and offered you my hand, hoping I wasn't going to have to haul you up in front of all these people, but you managed it, my poor Bones, before smacking me in the chest and heading over to the chair. Jack reemerged then, tossing the rest of the gonads back up onto the tarp.

"Dude! This is one of my new suits from Vincenzo! Please don't make me explain that it needs cleaning already because I got Mafia gonads on my pants! Watch where you throw those things!" Wait. Did I just say dude?

- - - -

"I'm going to stay here with Dr. Stevens for a while, run the samples through their equipment, see if the readings come out any different from ours," Jack said. "Clark and Sully will be another two hours with the tagging and the rest of the photographs, I'll snag a ride back with them."

"Dr. Hodgins," you murmured, your eyes glinting merrily under the influence of the peanut butter granola bar I'd made you eat, "I'm shocked that you would want to use such out-of-date, obsolete equipment."

He mock-sighed. "Well, Dr. Double-B, all in the interest of science, and the speed of verifying our findings. I mean, if we wait to get everything back to the lab, it'll be at least another two hours before I can get you and Booth here any information at all."

I couldn't help it, I laughed-- this was gold to him. "You're really noble, and self-sacrificing, Dr. Hodgins. We'll be sure to note in the file your deep dedication to duty, your willingness to work under such substandard conditions."

"You do that, Agent Booth," he said, eyes twinkling.

"Have fun storming the castle," you murmured to him, then took my arm as we headed out.

"Think they'll make it?" I asked.

"It'll take a miracle," you laughed. "C'mon, let's go to Sid's, see if he'll whip me up an M.L.T."

"Nah. Tomatoes are out of season. Mutton, too. Although he makes a mean vulture fricassee." What? He does. Snake and lichen surprise, too.

- - - -

It was packed when we got to Sid's, but it was practically like the wedding all over again-- Henry and Delia, Sweets and Anne were all sitting at the bar, Sam and his wife were in one booth, and Caroline, Jeanne, Maureen, and your Dad were in another.

"Booth! Temperance! Seeley! Pumpkin!" they variously shouted as we walked in.

"I feel like Norm in an episode of Cheers," I laughed.

"I don't know what that means," you murmured. Bones, Cheers, really? Well, now I know what to get the next time we go to the movie section of the bookstore. No more Clara Bow movies or 1950s musicals for you until we get you up to speed on the rest of the truly great 80s television shows. I mean, Bones! It's Cheers!

- - - -

"Ugh, Sid, what the hell is that?" you grumbled, as Sid placed a glass of red burgundy and a plate of crudités, complete with paper-thin slices of Bayonne ham and a round of perfectly aged, wonderfully fragrant epoisses in front of me, then slid your beer and iceberg wedge with blue cheese dressing in front of you.

"How is Henri?" I asked, as I inhaled the ripe cheese's aroma. You know blue cheese is blue because it has mold in it, don't you? (Bones, it does not, you're just trying to gross me out.)

"Mysterious," Sid smiled, "just how I like my faintly illegal food purveyors."

"Well, tell him he still owes me a bottle of absinthe."

"Will do, T.B."

You were just shaking your head. "You hooked Sid up with a black-market stinky cheese vendor?"

"Of course. Uncured ham, black truffles, and unpasteurized crème fraiche, too. The U.S.D.A.'s rules on food importation are completely arcane and arbitrary. No one ever gets seriously ill from a well-aged epoisses, it's always bad hamburger meat from Jack-in-the-Pulpit."

"Box, Bones, Jack in the Box." Whatever. Mmmm. This cheese is marvelous.


	53. Chapter 53

"Did you call with our regrets for the Turkey Pardon?"

"I thought you were going to do it."

"You said you'd take care of it before you saw Colonel Foster."

"Oh, shit. I did. Sorry. But what am I going to tell them about why we can't come?"

"Tell them we have a lab full of bodies full of classified substances and a compromised security system at the Navy Yard, and we'll be busy. They don't need to know the rest of the team can take care of it."

"But the big guy should already know that, he's got security briefings that will cover that, so I don't really need to call now, do I?."

"Booth." You were giving me the '_do you really think he pays any attention to anything_' look.

"What? Maybe he's learned, and actually reads the things now." You were silent.

"Okay, okay, I'll call first thing in the morning." Geez, you're such a hardass, Bones.

- - - -

"Bren, you look cold."

I am, damnit. Forty five degrees and fifteen minutes on a cold stone bench in the gardens and I'm freezing, even after a cup of tea and putting my lab coat on over the two layers I'm already wearing. Bummer, as Sweets would say. "I kind of am. Can you bring me a cup of tea, and bring my laptop over to the couch?" Oh, Ange, don't look at me like that, just bring me the damned tea while I put on another sweater, and go burrow under one of the many cashmere and silk and merino throws that keep showing up over the back of my sofa, and yours, and the new armchair in Cam's office. And don't think I didn't notice the new leather chaise in Jack's lab. Where did he put the mass spec machine that used to be there? It's just as well, I suppose. Those stools are too hard to sit on for long anymore, anyway.

"Thanks," I said, when she came back and pulled the coffee table over in order to lay down the tea and my laptop.

"What else?"

"The x-rays from yesterday, are the photos on the computer?"

She nodded. "Photos are online, x-rays are somewhere, I'll have Anne bring them in."

"Thanks." Back to work, in my cashmere burrow. Sometimes, it's all you can do.

- - - -

I'd spent the whole day calming down freaked-out security techs at the Yard and over at DOD, and running the info on half the list the Commandant gave me, while Sully took care of the rest and looked into Engineer McCarthy's security card breach, and I hadn't talked to any of our squints all day. "How did it go today, Ange?"

"Work, or treatment?"

"Both."

Ange took another slurp of pad thai and a sip of wine before answering. "Okay, though you're not going to like the first part. She got cold while you two were outside this morning, and it took two cups of tea, another sweater, three throws, and a half hour under the throws on her couch before she stopped snarling at everyone. She practically bit poor Anne's head off when Anne didn't bring her the complete set of x-rays the first time. But the dentals all match up, they got all the Fratellis, and Anne should have the skulls boiled to her for tomorrow, so she can work on the kind of bullet, there are entry and exit wounds on all the ones where the TOD was after you nailed Kenton." Yeah, I don't like that first part at all. And I don't like that whoever they've got finishing the job is using something forceful enough to have an exit wound through a skull. That means a rifle of some kind, pistol rounds would lodge in the bone or inside the head. Not good.

"How many were TOD post-Kenton?"

"Three of the seven. That was it, actually, they got every last one of them. No more Fratellis, at all." Well, I was expecting that. When the mafia goes to war, they go to war.

"Did she eat?"

"Umm-hmm. We all had snacktime in her office at ten-thirty, finished the rest of Clark's pear cider and cheddar and some heirloom Roxbury Russet apples Sweets brought by. She worked another hour before Sid came by with some tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, and some of her new caramel toffee pots de creme for everyone." Sweets, huh? I need to be nicer to the kid, he's been good about keeping you company.

"Did he leave the bill?"

She shook her head. Damnit, I told him he had to stop bringing food for free when I'm not around, I mean, it's not like we can't afford it, and he has a business to run. But then she responded. "No, Cam took care of it, said it was on the lab." Okay, I can handle that. It's not like you don't work your ass off, and if they're willing to pay for you to stay at four-star hotels when we travel, they can float some soup and sandwiches, too.

"How was treatment?"

She sighed. "Fine, except she fell asleep a half hour in, and it was hard to wake her up at the end, and then she only finished the tomato juice before she got green and had to stop. I don't know, Booth, I can't carry her into the house like you and Max can, and I hate waking her up when we get out of the car here, she gets so upset about how wobbly she is when she first wakes up, I think moreso with me than with you or her father, or even Jack. I made her a shake before she went in to change-- she fell asleep before she finished, I just tucked her in." Mmm. Yeah, I saw, and finished the job. Poor Bones. I wish you'd nap consistently at the office, maybe you'd be less tired after therapy, and I wouldn't have to wake you up to make you eat. I'm glad Ange made you a shake, though, I'll see about maybe skipping waking you up tonight.

"Thanks, Ange. What are you and Jack doing for Turkey Day?"

"Oh, we're going to have dinner at our place. My Dad's coming in, it's just going to be the three of us. Jenkins is doing something with Caroline Julian and her sister at Sid's." Giant contagious love machine, Bones. What did I tell you?

- - - -

"What's that?"

"A blanket." Your tone brooked no argument. Fine. I don't want to stop doing this garden thing, at least as long as those random breezes keep coming along to carry away my defoliated chrysanthemums and daisies. I waited until you were done, bundled in my blanket, and okay, fine, I was warmer, and then held out my hands to blow, as the predictable random zephyr came and carried the yellow petals away.

"That one was at least ten degrees warmer than it is out right now." You were shaking your head as you said it. I'm not going to answer. The less we question it, the better. But yes, it was warmer. Like something had noticed I was cold, yesterday.

I was sitting on my couch, looking at some of the femurs, and pondering again the unknown kerf marks and cutting edge. We hadn't been able to determine the tool used to sever the limbs, although the tool used to remove the gonads was a common, unremarkable steak knife.

"Hi, honey," I heard, as my father came in to my office. Time to go, already? Oh, no, it's just eleven-thirty.

"Hi, Daddy," I murmured, still engrossed in my bones. There had to be some way to identify it, but this was what Zach was so good at. I wonder if the hospital will let me bring bones in? Well, not this week, his family would be in and visiting him through Monday.

"Whoa? Who used a sixteen inch steel cutting saw blade on those? That's some serious murderer, there," he said, as he peered over my shoulder.

"Dad, you recognize that cutting edge?"

He sat on the coffee table, and motioned for me to hold the bone up for further examination, squinting, and then smiling. See, squinting runs in the family. "Oh, sure, old carpenter's trick, well, at least on wood, I've never done it with bone, although it's a good idea, really. With really hard woods, like ebony, or oak, the regular wood-grade saw blades wear down and warp so much faster, and the motors run down because of the reverb between the blade and the machine. You use a steel sawblade, coat the surface of the wood with a little KY jelly so it slides into the wood without skiting across the surface, leaves you less edge to finish, and you're through, whammo, in no time!"

Amazing. Water-soluble lubricant would explain why we found no other particulates, it would have dissolved into negligible traces in the tanks. "Daddy, would you go get Jack and a magnifying glass and come back here, then explain that to him again? Oh, and bring me some cheese sticks, too?"

He came back in, Jack trailing behind him, then re-explained what he saw. Jack shook his head. "Amazing, Max. Want to come with me for a sec and tell me which saws and blades to send out for so we can try for a match?" Oh, Booth, you should have seen the Charm Smile on his face as he bounced out of the room to help Jack. I set to work typing up his findings. Do you think Caroline Julian is going to be able to qualify an acquitted murderer as an expert in the event this ever goes to trial? She should, I mean, he is a certified master carpenter. We can deal with the criminal record thing in motions in limine, right?

- - - -

You and your father and Jack were sitting on the couch, all wearing gloves and you in a mask, and all squinting at saw blades and bones on the coffee table when I came in. Your dad? Bones? You brought bones home from the lab? At least you put a plastic sheet down on the table, I suppose.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, people! When did Casa Booth-Brennan become an outpost of squintland?" Heh. Your eyes twinkled over your mask as I said our married name again. You're so cute when you're feeling all alpha-female..

"Settle down, son," your dad growled, "and I hope you've got supper for four in those bags, there, I'm starving. These kids are picking my brain for top-secret carpenters' knowledge."

Actually, I guess I did have enough dinner for four. Sid had loaded me up when I stopped by after calling, and I couldn't figure out why the hell he'd given me so much food, but he knows not only what to feed you, but how much, so I didn't question. I set the bags down and headed back to change. You all were babbling about teeth and KY jelly, eeeeuuuugh, when I came back in the room, but I set out the food, figuring everyone would pick what seemed best, although I figured the North African tofu, sweet potato, spinach and peanut butter stew on couscous was probably for you. I snuck a taste, though, and it really was tasty. That Sid. Even tofu tastes decent when he makes it.

"People, wrap it up, the food's going to get cold, and Bones and I have to pack before we hit the road tomorrow morning." Jack babbled something into his dictaphone, then put everything back into a hard-sided evidence box he'd brought, and collected your gloves and masks and tossed them on top. "Catch," I called, tossing your antibacterial gel over to the couch. You caught it without even looking. "Nice catch, Bones!"

When you were all done degermifying, Hodgins hauled you up off the couch and you three settled in at the counter, babbling about Max's input on the cutting edge and how the same tool was used on everyone, and that it was relatively new, judging by the way the kerf marks showed that the teeth were still sharp, and therefore newer. "And," added your Dad, "It's a special saw blade, and there's only a half-dozen dealers in the tri-state area, so there's not too many places to have to track down for sales records."

"Max. Just, shut up, okay? Jack can figure the rest out, Sam's already going to kill me that you're the one who figured out the saw blade. The less stuff I need you for on this one, the better."

Your dad just smiled. "Nah. We can deal with that in motions in limine. After all, I'm acquitted, and all my priors are unrelated to crimes of fraud, so they can't use them to impeach me for honesty. I'm an honest criminal, remember?" I suppose he's right, though that doesn't mean Caroline Julian won't tear me a new one just for making her work a little harder.

After dinner, we saw Jack off, and your dad went in the bathroom to take measurements. We were in the bedroom, packing for tomorrow, when he stuck his head in.

"Booth, you have any wood in the basement? I have a saw and a sander and actually a couple of tension rods I was going to put in Maureen's closet in the truck, but I've got nothing but two by fours for wood."

"Help yourself, there might be some in the closet behind the washer," I replied, "the switch is on the wall at the top of the stairs, watch the railing, those stairs suck."

"Gotcha," he smiled, and was gone.

"How does he do that?" I asked. You just shook your head and smiled. I'll get him to tell me, someday.

- - - - - -

"Mmmmmppphhh. Bones, why the _hell_ is the alarm set for so early?"

"You set it."

"Did not."

"You did too, and you are, yet again, lying on top of me so I can't move, so either shut them off or suffer the consequences." Oh, shit, your knee's between my legs. You wouldn't. Would you? Damnit. Better shut them off.

"Bones, you wouldn't really, would you?"

"What? Tickle you? Of course I would." Oh, tickling. Okay. Sure. I knew that.

- - - - -

"Master Jenkins."

"Master Booth, Madame Brennan, your noble Mustang awaits," he intoned, unlocking the garage and pointing to where I could park the truck.

"Thanks, man," I replied, as I pulled our bags out of the back and opened the trunk on the 'Stang. My 'Stang, _mine_, that _my Bones_, that's right, mine, bought me, because you're my _wife_. Heh. Hmm. Should I bring your kit and the vests and shotguns and other stuff? I'd probably better, better safe than sorry, although the Bureau'll be pissed if they have to fix a shot-up 'Stang. Me, too. The body shop at the motor pool is a bunch of lazy bastards, they'll take forever, and put miles on it taking it on '_test drives_.' Bastards.

Jenkins helped you from the truck while I unloaded the trunk, and then pulled out the snacks you'd rolled your eyes at when I stuck them in the backseat, but, whatever Bones, it's early and it's a long ride.

"Sorry it's so early, man." Ugh. I mean, yuck, six-thirty, I don't know why Hodgins didn't just give me a key.

"Oh, it's no trouble, I just got in anyway, sweet Caroline and I were at Papa Mojo's and didn't leave until three."

"Jenkins, you dog. On a weeknight?"

"Old dog, new tricks," he replied, with a wink. Bones, he's so cool. I wonder if he has a twin brother? How much do you think Jack pays Jenkins?

- - - - -

"Hey, Bones, wakey wakey." You'd managed to curl up, mostly against me, for nearly the entire ride, and looked pretty rested by the time I poked you. Bench seats are good for something, see, bucket seats aren't nearly as warm as me, your favorite pillow, your husband, right? Heh. I'm your husband.

"Mmmph?"

"Time for the grand tour, Bones, we'll be at the house in a half hour or so." You grumbled a little, but obliged, and let me point out the river running through downtown, and the colleges, and the downtown area, and then all the home sites in Northeast, my elementary school, and the church, and the high school, and Tookany Creek, and the football field, and where the movie theater where I used to make out with lots of girlfriends used to be, and you smiled your cute smile and took it all in, asking questions about distinct neighborhood identities and stuff about the initial settlement of this part of the city I don't know anything about. I'm sure you'll find out and quiz me later.

And then we were there, and I guess someone must have been looking out for us, because my dad and Jared both piled out of the house, eager to drool all over the 'Stang again. _My_ 'Stang, that you bought for me, because you're my _wife_. Heh.

- - - - -

"Jared, no, you may not drive Booth's vehicle, and hello, it's nice to see you, too, so glad your manners are intact." Yes, Seeley, I know you love it when I give him a hard time, don't worry, he's still a bit of a jerk, you needn't worry about my running out of tart-tongued things to say to him. "I bought it for him, and if he doesn't want you to drive it, that's final." He was pouting, because you weren't going to let him borrow the car to run last-minute errands. You'd made very good time, just two and a half hours, and I won't tell anyone you probably exceeded the speed limit, because I know how boys are with their cars and speed limits. (Hey! I'm not on duty, I don't have to maintain a professional and appropriate speed at all time. Plus, I mean, Bones, you _have_ to go fast. It's a 'Stang. My 'Stang. That you bought for me. Because you're my wife. Heh.)

"Temperance, if my wonderful, brave, handsome, and valiant son Seeley gives me permission to drive his beautiful Mustang, which is clearly infinitely less beautiful than you, may I please do so?" Your father's really incorrigible, you know that? I fluttered my eyelashes.

"Richard, if Seeley says you may, then you may, but Jared still doesn't get to drive, and I'll request that you and Caroline not engage in any ... prom-like behavior in the vehicle."

"Bones!"

"Temperance!"

The three of you blush exactly the same way, did you know that?

- - - - -

"Temperance, darling, come here and give me some sugar." Your mother was in the kitchen, setting out vegetables and other things to peel and chop at the kitchen table, when we finally made it into the house.

"Hello, Caroline, you're looking as lovely as ever," I murmured, as she pulled me in for a hug and a whiff of my mother's perfume. "But are you sure you want some sugar? Because last time, you said you wanted a one-night-stand, and I really must say, I'm a one Booth kind of woman, as much as you might be my type otherwise."

"Temperance!"

"Bones! Why is Mom blushing?"

Your mother threw her head back and laughed, even as she continued blushing. "Oh, my dear, we're going to have such fun tomorrow."


	54. Chapter 54

"You going to be okay if the three of us go get some last minute things?" You were sitting at the kitchen table, chopping onions while my mom was laying into my dad about last minute groceries.

"Mmm-hmmm," you nodded, intent on the knife, "just get me a yellow pages, will you? This chair's too low to sit in and really work at the table. I need more height for leverage."

Phone books. Hmm. On top of the fridge? Nope. On the counter next to the phone? Uh-uh. Maybe in the hall? Oh, yeah, on the shelf under the table. "Here you go, Bones."

"Thanks," you said, pulling forward and up so I could slide it under you.

"Booth!" What? You don't honestly think I'm not going to take such a golden chance to goose you?

- - - -

"I don't know where the hell your mother put all of the televisions and the radios, I've been all over the goddamned house and out in the garage. It's like she just waved a wand and made them disappear."

"Maybe we should just pick up a portable one if we can find any stores open. Right, Seel?"

I shook my head. "I'm not crossing Bones and Mom. You two want to try it, fine, but I'm not missing the game tomorrow-- Bones has the tickets and she won't tell me where they are."

Jared snorted. "You could look for them, you know, Mr. Hotshot FBI investigator-- or tell me where to look."

I shot him a look in the rearview mirror, heh, he has to sit in the back, because it's _my_ 'Stang, that you bought for me, because you're my _wife_, heh, and replied. "Bones flattened me once with a right cross like you wouldn't believe, and she wasn't even as mad as she was just upset with me because she thought I was dead. You want to dislocate your jaw when mom's pies are on offer? Go for it."

Dad grumbled, skipping right over the '_thought I was dead_' part and focusing on the important part of that warning. "And that's another thing! I know Caroline made pie, I could smell it when I got up, but I have no idea where the hell she put them to cool! They were out of the oven when I came down to put in the turkey, but she won't tell me where they are."

I sighed. Now, that's just not fair. I do love a piece of my mother's Dutch Apple pie for a mid-morning snack, it just makes watching the game more enjoyable. But no, no game this year, the Mom and Bones United No-TV Front was on. I decided to just think over where mom could have hidden two televisions, three radios, and six pies? Six? Sometimes she makes seven. Mmm. Pie.

"You looked in the attic?" Dad nodded.

"Basement?"

"Of course."

"Tool shed?"

"First place I looked after the garage."

Well, it wouldn't hurt to run through all the places in the house, just in case he'd overlooked something.

"Jared's room?"

"Yes."

"The half-bathroom..."

- - - -

I was ladling the custard for the pots de creme into cups to set in the fridge as your mother explained all her preparations for the day. "You put the pies in the clothes washer and dryer? How did you manage that?" My admiration for your mother's Booth-men-management-skills went up another notch.

She laughed as she explained. "Oh, I put a scrap piece of wood in the bottom of each, we have front-loaded machines, and then put the multi-tiered cooling racks on top of them, and then slipped the pies in. It's actually fairly sturdy, and Richard doesn't ever do laundry. He broke the washer once when the boys were still children, and I gave him such a tongue lashing when I found out that he hasn't touched them since."

"Brilliant, Caroline, brilliant. Where did you hide the televisions?"

She snorted. "The linen closet, behind the extra sheets and towels, and then under the winter blankets on the floor of the closet. The two smaller hurricane radios are in the back of the freezer."

"Perfect—they'll never look past the ice cream at the front of the freezer."

"Precisely. Shall I put these in the refrigerator now?"

"Please. Maybe behind the beets and the eggplant?"

"Oh, you're good at this, too." Of course. You hate beets and eggplant. I hide everything I don't want you to eat yet behind the beets and the eggplant. What, you hadn't noticed the fact that we always have them, but I never cook them? Some investigator.

"They should be back soon," I commented, as I chopped apples and pears for your mother's sausage, mushroom and onion stuffing.

Caroline smiled as she sauteed the gizzards for gravy with some of the onions I'd chopped. "They're probably driving around, looking for a portable television, but only the hardware store is open, and I already called Bob to tell him not to sell them one."

"I think Booth knows better than to be an accessory to that. If they try, he'll probably make them walk home."

"You're a good influence, dear."

"No, not really. He's just afraid I'll beat him up. Do you want the sage in ribbons, or diced?"

"Ribbons are fine, please, but if you could mince the rosemary for the roasted root vegetables, I'd appreciate it. And in this household, a good influence means that the menfolk have an appropriate fear of bodily harm."

I really do love your mother. She's my type of woman. "Okay, that's done. Now, for the root vegetables, so you want cubes or wedges?"

"Cubes, I think, if you don't mind the extra preparation work."

"Not at all, they'll cook faster. You know, I sometimes put lemon and orange zest in with mine, in addition to the olive oil, lemon juice and rosemary, if..."

"Oh, that sounds like a good idea," she replied, smiling, and went to get me the fruit. Oh, good. I don't want to step on her toes, it is her kitchen, but if we're going to use the juice of the fruit anyway, well, the zest adds another, complementary flavor component, it would be a waste not to extract the maximum use from each foodstuff.

I suppose three years ago I might have been annoyed to have been "left behind" in the kitchen with your mother to prepare Thanksgiving dinner while the three of you went off to fool (tool, Bones, tool) around town in your ridiculous vehicle, but I most likely would have spent my time swatting Jared, and I wanted to save that for later, after another snack.

Hmm. You really have been gone a long time. I'd better check on where you are.

--

My phone buzzed as I was trying to drive back to the house, and Dad kept whining about wanting to go to the hardware store to pick up a television. "Dad, maybe _you_ don't care if you don't have sex with Mom again for a year, but I happen to enjoy making love to my wife, and she will kick my ass, then never touch it again, if we bring a television into the house." I pulled my phone out as my father mused aloud.

"Your mother would never do that. Wait, there was that time I broke the washing machine..."

I snorted as I read the text message, then handed it to Dad, who read it aloud. "_Get your asses home or the pies get it. Love, June_." He gasped. "Not the pies! She wouldn't! What should I type back?"

"_Yes, dear. Meekly, Ward_."

"Got it. She wouldn't really, I mean, Seeley, would she?"

"Don't push it, Dad. Remember that time Jared and I decided to make a rope ladder out of all the brand new sheets that Mom bought, and she served us liver and onions for three days straight because you laughed and told her you thought we were funny?" His face screwed up in remembrance, and he nodded seriously.

"Bones? Ten thousand times worse. We don't get our asses back there, she'll not only ditch the pies, but find a way to sneak tofu into everything."

Jared's horrified voice came from the back seat. "What the hell are you driving so slowly for? Step on it!"

- --

Your father came in to the house, looking half-panicked, and laden with grocery bags.

"Temperance," he tried, putting on a Charm Smile so muddled with '_please, tell me you didn't hurt my pies_' fear that I had to smile.

"Don't worry, Richard," I smiled, "you're in time."

"We almost weren't," grumbled Jared, as he came in with another handful of bags. "Stupid Seeley wouldn't drive faster, like I told him to." He came over and put them down, then came over to drop a kiss on my cheek. "Hello, Bones," he said, straightening. Well, that's not going to fry. (Fly, Bones, fly.)

I grabbed him by the shirt, and then tugged down, hard, until I could grab his collar with my hand. "Don't call me Bones." Caroline just laughed, and swatted Jared on the shoulder as Jared's eyes popped a bit.

"Sorry, Temperance." I was still holding on to his collar when you walked in.

"Bones, why are you strangling my brother? What did he do now?"

"He called me Bones. I was telling him not to." Jared's eyes widened a bit again, so I let him go, only for you to haul him around and get in his face.

"No one calls Bones that but me. Got it?"

"Boys!" called your mother. "I still have the pies hostage! Jared and Richard, put those things down and go set up the table, Jared, you iron the linens, I had to buy new ones after your father scorched last year's. Seeley, you can stay and help me put things away." The two of them tromped out of the kitchen, as you put the rest of the vegetables over on the table near me, then set the rest of the canned goods and other things on the counter.

"Jellied cranberry sauce? Seeley, I told you we didn't need it. Temperance and I made homemade cranberry sauce," your mother complained. She's right. Yuck on the canned stuff.

"Ma! It's tradition! It's not Thanksgiving without a big slice of cranberry jelly to carve fork lines into."

"Caroline, I didn't realize his playing with his food went back so far," I added. "I thought he only did it to annoy me."

She laughed. "No, dear, unfortunately, he's done it pretty much forever. You have to see what he does to the pumpkin pie before you believe it."

You were loading things into the fridge, and clearly looking for pudding. "Bones," you whined. "I thought you were making those caramel toffee things, I don't see them. Aw, Jesus, Ma, beets _and_ eggplant? You're not making those for dinner, are you?"

Your mother stifled a snort as she shot me a wink as you continued to bend into the fridge. "No, dear, those are for later."

"What time are we eating, Mom?"

"Around four, why, Seeley?"

"Just wondering," I replied, as I picked up the last bunch of root vegetables you'd been chopping and dumped them into the pan. "What else?" You pointed at the rest of the chopped herbs and spices in a bowl next to you, and a bowl of chopped shallots and garlic. I sniffed the bowl of herbs before I dumped it in. "What's in that? Oranges? Bones, that's not how Mom makes it." Mom shot me the EDG. Oh, shit. You taught my _mother_ the Evil Death Glare?

"Seeley, Temperance does know how to cook, and I do like to mix things up every once in a while. I promise, it will be edible." Okay. Keeping my mouth shut. You two get along way too well. You were de-stemming about seventy pounds of fresh spinach at the table, and it was nearly eleven, so I decided it was time for a snack. Hmm. Mom had milk, and there was some deli ham and some cheese, good. Carrot sticks? Maybe, you were looking pretty perky, and you'd had that nap this morning, and you plowed through that grated carrot, raisin and cumin/cilantro salad Sid gave you with your pork chop at supper the other night. I wonder if she laid in that coffee syrup I told her about, I forgot to check and then forgot again at the grocery store. Ah, good, there it is. Mom shot me a look as I made up two plates, but didn't say anything as she pulled out a third plate and three glasses and shoved them at me. Normally, she'd belt me for spoiling my supper. You looked up when you heard the spoon clinking on glass as I stirred the syrup into the milk, then cleared some space at the table as Mom and I came over to sit down.

"What are you gals going to do tomorrow while we engage in vicarious warmongering and consume copious amounts of beer, hot dogs, and pizza?" I asked, as you munched on your carrot sticks.

"Oh, Temperance has arranged for a private tour of the Anthropology and Archaeology museum at the University in the morning, and then I thought we'd go to the Reading Terminal Market to have some lunch and walk around the stalls, and then maybe some shopping in Old City if we feel like it." Hmm. Sounds like a lot, but you're always more bouncy in the mornings, and the museum's not supposed to be that big, even if they do have the Royal Temple of Ur and all those Mayan/Guatemalan excavation doohickeys, so maybe you won't get too tired. Wait. The Royal Temple of Ur? Damn, Bones, I'm not even sure I really knew that. Knock it off with the squint brain waves, please? I still have to talk like a normal person at the office, alright?

"They have a number of Amish vendors and a mascot pig statue at the market, you know," you said, smiling with your '_new subcultures to observe and a brass pig to boot_' smile.

"Yeah, but which is the bigger draw, Bones? 'Cuz you know, you love pigs almost as much as you love getting all squinty with socially self-isolating groups."

My Mom laughed and got up to stir the gravy.

"Ma! How come they get a snack and Dad and I don't?" grumbled Jared, as he came back into the kitchen to put the iron away.

"Because I love them more than I love you," she said, thwacking him with a dishtowel when he went over to pick some food off her plate. "Jared, put that down." And then, she EDG'd him and he slunk out of the kitchen. Heh. Okay, maybe I can forgive you for teaching that to her, _that_ was worth it.

- --

One o'clock, and everything's done, or ready to go when the turkey comes out, and you're looking a little tired. Okay, maybe I can be a bit less of an ass about how you're doing today and still get you to take a nap.

"Mom, are there sheets on the bed?" She looked up from the cranberry sauce on the stove, that does smell good, what did you guys put in there? and smiled. "Of course, you put your things in your room, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh. I'm kinda pooped, we got up at five and we didn't go to bed until late because Bones dragged her dad and Jack home from the lab and contaminated our happy home with squint babble, she's such a workaholic. And then, Max turned the basement into a carpenter's workshop until all hours of the night. I think I'm gonna grab forty winks. Wanna join me, Bones?" Yeah, I know, he was only there until ten, and he whacked that stuff for the bathroom out in no time, and it even looks nice, he got a coat of finishing wax on it and everything, but still, I wonder if he's really going to rebuild the basement stairs by the time we get back Saturday. I mean, he works fast, but not that fast. (He was funny when I gave him the extra set of keys for while we were gone. "_I never needed them before_," he said. He just laughed when I replied, "Yeah, well, Max, I'm usually in town when you pick our front door lock, okay? I don't want to try to bail you out from Philly, and I'm not going to drive back three hours when you can just use the key like a normal person.")

"I suppose," you said, rolling your eyes. "Caroline, do you know he wets the bed every time I make him sleep alone? It's going to bankrupt me, buying all those new sheets, one of these days." Okay, fine, I deserved that, I get it, I shouldn't have yelled at you in public, I'm sorry, please, let's just go upstairs before you start telling my mother I pick my nose in the car or something else equally horrifying.

You pushed up and made your way over to the sink and washed your hands, before letting me take your arm. Jared and Dad were off in the yard, raking leaves or whatever Mom sent them to do to keep out of her hair while we worked. Those two are useless in the kitchen-- whenever Mom went away, we lived on pizza or hot dogs until I got old enough to cook for the three of us. "Upsy daisy, there, Bones," I said, then boosted you up so I could climb up the stairs. They're not as many, only eighteen, but they're steep and creaky and narrow and my parents really need to replace the runner, that thing was slippery when I was a kid, it's not any better now, twenty-five years later. You were looking at all the really, truly, horrible grade school pictures on the wall, and laughing at my ninth grade picture.

"Can it, Bones. It was the 80s. Spiked hair was cool back them."

"I was laughing at your braces, actually."

"Charm Smiles take maintenance." What? They do.

- --

You were still sacked out when my phone alarm buzzed in an hour, but at least you were making sleeping kitten noises and weren't looking completely exhausted. Ah, well, I'll check back in a half hour, and if you get up in the meantime, you'll call me. I'll set my phone again for three to make sure you have plenty of time to wake up before dinner.

The timer on the oven was buzzing when I walked back in the kitchen. "That the turkey, Ma?"

She nodded from where she was standing, making whipped cream. Ooh. For pie. You really didn't throw the pie out. Thank God. "Yes, take it out, would you please, and then put the root vegetables in?"

"Jesus, how big is this thing?" I asked, as I hauled it out and carried it over to the table, where she'd already laid out a towel so it wouldn't scorch the table.

"Fifteen pounds," she replied. Oh, okay. Four pounds each for me, Dad, and Jared, and the rest for the two of you. Seems fair. I can't wait for turkey sandwiches tomorrow, mmm, with leftover stuffing, and mayo, and cranberry sauce, on some squishy white bread? Mmmm.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to a roasting pan full of what looked like shredded cabbage, as I put the root vegetables into the oven.

"Shredded brussels sprouts and shallots. Temperance said they go in for the last forty minutes, and get tossed with mustard and balsamic vinegar and butter and some fresh herbs right before serving." Hmm. I normally hate brussels sprouts, but that sounds good. I bagged up the trash and brought it out to the yard and when I came back in, Mom was pouring some coffee. Mmm. Coffee, elixir of the gods.

"What else?" I asked, as she knocked off the beaters she used on the cream and handed me one. Yeah, Jared always teases me about being Mommy's little helper, but he's missing out on all the extra food on the beaters and spoons and spatulas. I mean, raw cookie dough? No way I'd rather be out in the yard.

"That's it, actually," she said, as she stuck the bowl in the fridge. I have no idea how she finds all that room—female secret powers, I guess. I still don't know where the hell you put that pudding, though. "Here, come sit," she said, carrying the mugs over to the table-- she'd already put out cream and sugar.

"You're not really so tired that you needed a nap, now, Seeley," she asked, as I took my first gulp. Yep, Mom's got the art of catching someone off guard down, for sure. Great.

"Mmm. We did get up early, and Max was at the house until late working on something for Bones."

"Mmm-hmmm," she said, taking a sip from her own mug. "I'm sorry, but it looks like she's lost more than what you said in the email."

"Well, she hasn't, she just was thin to begin with. She can only stomach so much at a time, and sometimes not even then, and if she falls asleep then it's a toss up between waking her up to make her eat, or letting her sleep, because she gets so wiped out. It's bad enough, right now, but they'll put an appetite stimulant in the cocktail starting next week, it's a whole new combination of drugs, and some steroid pills to take every day on top of that, so maybe that'll help. And everyone at work is great about checking in on her, and she puts up with it as much as she hates it, so really, we're doing everything that we can."

"Seeley, what will happen if she can't go into work anymore?" Oh, God, Mom, I don't know. We've been avoiding that topic. If you're that sick, then there's no way I'm leaving you alone at home, and you're not going to want a nurse in the house, and we can't very well ask our friends to take turns keeping you company while you try to do more than you ought from the couch or the bed, they've done so much already. I guess I'll take a partial leave and do desk work part-time at home until whatever happens next, I just don't want to think about this on Thanksgiving.

"I don't know. We haven't really talked about it." I changed the subject then, and she let me, as I told her about Parker's upcoming part in the Christmas play at church, and how excited he is to be a shepherd with three whole lines, which then led to her telling me about what was up in our home parish, and all the things the kids in her CCD class were getting up to. Jared clomped in, then, followed by Dad, and the two of them poured themselves coffee and sat down with us, listening to Mom finish her story about her students and how cute they were.

"Speaking of cute kids, Seel, when are you two going to start adding to the Booth legacy?" Jared asked, a smirk on his face. "You're not getting any younger, you know."

I'll kill him. Not right now, I'll wait until Mom and Dad go to bed, and then kill him and pretend like I don't know where he went. I can't believe him.

"You know what, Jared? I'm mostly just focused on making sure Bones gets older too, a lot older, okay?"

- --

My phone buzzed not long after I walked out of the kitchen and into the yard, looking for some wood to chop or targets to shoot, and it was you, calling, so I guess you were up.

"Hey, you up?"

"Yes," you replied.

"I'll be right up."

I walked back into the house, where my parents were taking turns laying into Jared at the kitchen table. Good. Maybe they'll kick him out and the four of us can have a nice dinner, without him. You were sitting up on the edge of the bed when I got up there, and patted the bed so I'd sit down beside you.

"Seeley, your brother's an ass," you began, "but you can't let that bother you."

"You heard?"

"Mmm-hmm. You Booth men don't exactly have soft little voices," you smiled, then leant your head on my shoulder. "He's an ass, and there's nothing you can do to stop it, and the fact remains that as hard as I'm sure your parents worked to make him not be an ass, sometimes genetic mutations happen. You can't argue with science."

"So what you're saying, basically, is that by all objective, measurable criteria, my brother is an aberrant personality, and we should sic Sweets on him?"

You nodded, solemnly. "Plus, I think Lance is a little bored. I'm sure he'd be fascinated by the dichotomy between you, as the compassionate, service-oriented brother, and Jared, as the self-centered brother. He could tangle Jared up for hours with all his hypothetical questions and academic exercises."

"There's that. Maybe we could even get him to tape the initial intake, or give us a copy of his self-analysis forms."

You laughed, then took my hand. "Will you please try to believe me when I tell you your brother's a jealous, insensitive ass, and that we'd really do better double-teaming than letting him get under our skin? If you knock him down for me, I'm perfectly happy to kick him in the testicles." That's my Bones, all into the teamwork approach.

"Can we sell tickets, first?"

You smiled and pushed me up, then put your arms around my neck as I picked you up to head off for the stairs. "You've got a deal. Now, let's go downstairs and get this Thanksgiving dinner show on the street."

"Road, Bones, not street."

- - - -

Your dad was leaving the dining room and passing back through the hall when we were halfway down the stairs, but masked his startled look pretty well. "You know, Temperance," he said, with a smile, "I'm told that Cleopatra had at least ten men carrying her sedan chair at all times."

"Well, your stairs are rather narrow," I retorted. "There's really only room for me and one other, and Booth and I are trying to save up for a Jenkins. I can't really rationalize a fleet of chair wranglers under those circumstances."

Your father barked a laugh. "Yes, wouldn't we all like to have a Jenkins?" When you set me down, he said, "I was just going to crack open some champagne, could I tempt you to join me in a glass or six?"

I shook my head, seriously. "No, not unless I get my own bottle and an extra-long bendy straw." The two of you laughed, and I really was just joking, but your father got this look in his eye, and took off for the kitchen.

"Caroline? Do we have any straws? Temperance just had the most marvelous idea!"

- - - - -

Fortunately, there weren't any straws in the house, so we four were able to enjoy our first round of drinks like responsible adults, and not like the old drunks my parents are. Really, I don't know when the champagne thing started, it was always martinis for Mom and Yuenglings for Dad all the time growing up—they must have gotten hooked on it when they went to Paris for their fortieth anniversary. Which I suppose is fine, and it makes the recycling bin look a lot classier out at the curb. But I swear, sometimes I think they're single-handedly keeping the local distributor in business—we're just not a champagne before dinner part of town.

They'd sent Jared out for more champagne and some other booze while we were upstairs, so you were all settled on my lap and working on your second flute of champagne when he came in, then returned after putting stuff away. I think he was a little shocked at the fact that we were clearly having a good time without him, which is not surprising, because he always thinks he's the life of the party. Which doesn't mean he can't be, but it's one thing to be it, and another thing to assume you're automatically and only it. I don't know why or when he started having such a problem with me—it was in high school, for sure, though it didn't get really bad until after I got back from the Gulf. I don't even know what his problem is, either. We never traveled in the same packs, he was into baseball and swim team, and dated girls in the drama club and on the debate time, and I did football and basketball and track, and pretty much stuck to cheerleaders, so it's not like I was trying to be friends with his crowd, or date any of the girls he tended to go after.. He was a better student than I was, I was more interested in chasing girls, quite frankly, and he was always on his "_I'm going to be rich and powerful_" kick, so grades mattered more to him. All I know is at some point, he stopped being a fun older brother to hang out with, and started cutting me down all the time. I can handle him being a jackass to me, but I won't have him be obnoxious to you. He does it again, and I'll pound him.

You were rubbing the back of my neck and scratching your fingers in my hair as I glared at Jared, and I kind of wish you wouldn't do that because it's kind of hard to concentrate on giving him my best '_keep your mouth shut, asshole_' look when you're giving me a serious hard on with those fingers of yours, but I suppose that was probably your point, since I can at least wait until I've had thirds of Mom's turkey before I kick his ass.

"Jared, come help me with some things in the kitchen," Mom said, as she walked out of the room, Jared following, and then she shut the door behind her. Oooh. She's going to rip him a new one, she only shuts the door when she's really going to tear it up.

"More champagne?" Dad asked, then he laughed as Jared's first "But, Ma!"s started to become audible from behind the kitchen door.

- - - -

I bowed my head as your mother led grace, a traditional one I think perhaps my mother used to say, it's quite a nice one even with the religious elements, perhaps there's a secular version. Hmm. I've never done any research into whether there are non-religious, yet traditional means of acknowledging the social re-connections inherent in communal sharing of meals. I'll have to do some research when we get home.

- - - -

I tried a little bit of everything, and your mother really is an excellent cook, but that stuffing was a little rich, and normally you'd think mashed potatoes would be something anyone could eat, but even though they tasted delicious in my mouth, they were not so great in my stomach, so I mostly stuck to the turkey and root vegetables, although the Brussels sprouts and green beans seemed to want to stay put, too. The turkey is quite tasty, Booth—she brines it, you know, I've been meaning to try that as a cooking technique on chicken, and now that I now that it works, I'll definitely give it a go.

"Caroline, mmmpph, what's in the cranberry sauce?"

"Oh, something Temperance suggested. What is it, dear?"

"Cranberries, dried cherries, golden raisins, orange juice, sugar, some cloves, and a cinnamon stick."

"Awesome Bones, awesome Mom," you mumbled around your third serving of mashed potatoes and stuffing and gravy. Really, I don't know where you put it. One of these days I'm going to find out your stomach actually opens onto its own universe, and therefore it really is impossible for you to feel full. You ate the rest of the stuffing from my plate and handed me some more green beans, then I helped myself to a few more tablespoons of the root vegetables.

Jared was eyeing this tradeoff, but said nothing, so I continued to ignore him as I picked at my vegetables and my poultry. The gravy was tasty, too, but again, too rich for me, though I will definitely try her trick with the extra-dark roux when I'm feeling better. It really does add some depth to the sauce.

"Everything is delicious, Caroline, I hope you'll give me your brine recipe before we go," I essayed, on the off chance that Jared perhaps thought I didn't like your mother's cooking. The man is so obtuse. Well, whatever, now he's paying attention to his own plate.

Your father was talking about a deal at work, that would require him and Caroline to travel to New York next Friday and Saturday, and Jared advised that he would be there, too, also on business, and offered to take them out to dinner. "What are you two up to next weekend?" Caroline asked.

Next weekend was the NCJA meeting—did you tell them and they'd forgotten you'd been invited to speak? "Next weekend is our presentation at the NCJA keynote," I ventured, and your parents looked confused. You shot me a look. You didn't tell them? Whyever not?

"What's the NCJA?" your father asked, as he attacked more of the stuffing. Your mother looked curious.

"It's the National Criminal Justice Association. Booth was invited to give the keynote address at the end of the conference next weekend—it's their national conference, and it's considered a very high honor to be asked to speak. There will be almost 2500 people from law enforcement from all levels of government present, and Booth will be presenting a case we worked on together, where there was a double murder and an orphaned infant involved. It was quite a challenging case, and Booth was able to wrap the case up in a very short time, and made sure that Andy, the infant who was orphaned, went to his proper legal guardians."

"Bones is being modest," you interjected, looking embarrassed. Why? Your parents are proud of you. "She was the one who figured out who the murderer was from the computer data Angela recovered, and Bones figured where the second victim was—that was the only way we'd have wrapped up the case. She's talking, too, it's not just me giving the presentation, which is good, because I'm a lousy public speaker."

I turned to you. "Why do you say that? You're a wonderful public speaker. I had a chance to assist Booth with the class that he teaches at the FBI training academy, and he's very charismatic and effective. He's one of the most highly-respected instructors at Quantico."

"Sweetheart, you never told us you were teaching," Caroline murmured. You were looking even more embarrassed, and I just don't understand why.

"Did you at least tell your parents about the service commendation you received at the Rose Garden the Monday after the wedding?" You shook your head, bright red, now.

"Rose Garden, as in the White House?" Richard inquired.

"Yes, they asked us to the Turkey Pardon today, too, but since Parker was away with Rebecca and Brent, there really wasn't much point in going."

"You turned down an invitation to the White House?" Jared practically whispered.

"Bones, Mom and Dad are busy with other stuff, they don't have time to listen to me brag…" you mumbled.

"It's not _bragging_, Booth! Those are well-deserved honors in recognition of the fact that you are one of the top FBI agents in the country, and paltry compensation for all the times you've been practically killed defending your country and innocent people. Your parents should be proud of you, I know I am." Okay, I'm sorry, I'm getting a little upset here, but really, you take this modesty thing too far. I'm going to go out on the back porch and get some air.

"Excuse me a moment," I said. You were looking pretty taken aback. I think if I make my escape now, your parents will jump all over you, and you'll have to talk to them. "Grill your too-modest son here on his accomplishments, please, will you? I'll be back momentarily." I pushed myself up, okay, no head rush, excellent, got the chair back, great, and managed to make my way out of the room without needing to lean on the wall. Fabulous, just need a little fingerbrush along the wall here, I'm really getting the hang of this balance thing. Okay, back door, I hope there's some chairs out there, oh, there are, good, excellent, and they're not even too low for me to get in and out of myself. Excellent.

Booth, sometimes, I just don't understand you. You can be incredibly arrogant, or rightfully proud, or justifiably self-righteous, but you don't tell your family about your very real accomplishments? Why on earth not? Is this some Catholic thing? It's not false modesty, you've got terrible self-esteem, and goodness knows I'm not free from insecurity myself, and I understand why, goodness knows we've both had to do things that aren't worth being proud of, but shame and regret that there wasn't another choice in those circumstances shouldn't taint the things you have done, where you've been able to achieve the best possible outcome, and saved so many lives in the process. And I can't honestly think your priest would think this was bragging, or sinful pride—sharing your accomplishments with people who love you the most is important, if they're to understand who you are and be of help to you in times when you need them. Your parents have a right to know, a right to be proud of you, to know that the son whom they raised has made good on the values they taught him. And just to know that you're a good man, not a bad anything. You need to know that, too.

- - - - -

"Temperance?"

"Booth, you don't have to call me by my first name, I'm not mad at you."

"Are you going to come in?"

"I am."

"Can I come out in the meantime?"

"No, hold on, I'm coming in." Okay, push, up we go, nope, too fast, okay, sit back down again. Goddamnit, I hate this. Just… stay there, okay? Wait at least until I've failed a second time, please. Alright, upsy daisy, Temperance, excellent, defying gravity on your second try. Oh, Booth, don't look at me like that, I'm really cranky-- your brother's a jackass and I can't eat anything and your parents don't know all the good things about you, and I just want some goddamned mashed potatoes with gravy, is that too much to ask? Apparently.

You stepped out of the doorway and wrapped your arms around me. Honestly, why I ever fell for the guy hug line, I don't know. I'm clearly delusional, especially why ever I held off so long on doing this whenever I wanted, because you really smell nice, and you're always warm.

"Want to go to bed, Bones?"

"No. I want mashed potatoes and gravy, and I hate holidays, they're too fraught, and I hate whining." I mumbled into your chest. Temperance Brennan, bestselling author, forensic anthropologist, whiner.

"Nah, they're cold now, you want some pie and pudding. You did make me pudding, right, Bones?" You were giving me that "_I can't look at what's right in front of me and see it, but I'm adorable anyway so you'll tell me, right?_" look.

"Behind the beets." Rats-- now I'm going to have to find a new hiding place.

"Bones! But I looked right at the beets! I didn't see anything! But…. Where's the pie?"

"That's your mother's secret, not mine. You want pie, you should go beg her with those sad, pie-loving-puppy-dog eyes."

You laughed, your chest rumbling under my ear. "I think I will. Come on, come help me with the dishes in the kitchen, okay?"

"Okay."

- - - -

We always eat dessert in the living room, a beautiful, glistening array of pies and coffee and more champagne, and whipped cream and ice cream and cheddar cheese for Mom's apple pie all set out on the coffee table, covering every inch, and what wasn't pie was a double batch of those puddings, which are really, really, really good, Bones, I hope you made more . It's a beauty to behold, but I'll admit that the pie array (pie-rray?) (Booth, that's terrible. Really.) at the wedding was even more beautiful, just don't tell Mom, okay? (Deal.) You were sitting back into the couch, curled up next to me and sipping some more champagne as I worked on my fourth piece of pie, thank goodness Mom made two each of the pumpkin and apple, I am definitely going to want more of that for breakfast, if not in the middle of the night. I can usually get downstairs for more before my brother or father do.

"More pie, Temperance?" asked Jared. "How about some apple?"

"Thank you, no, I'm sure it's delicious, but I don't care for cooked fruit and I'm rather full."

He cocked his head. "You hardly ate anything at supper." Oh, lord, here we go.

"Jared Booth!" yelled my mother. "I don't know where the manners I tried so hard to teach you have gone. Just because Temperance does not eat like the gluttonous pig that you are does not mean you have the right to comment upon her eating habits."

You smiled in amazement at my mother's defending you, though you were clearly itching to knock Jared down, too. Oh, Bones, when are you going to get over the fact that people love you? "I do wish I could have eaten more, Jared, but you see, this pesky cancer thing kind of gets in the way of enjoying normal quantities and types of food. I rather thought your parents might appreciate it if I stuck to things that wouldn't cause me to vomit right at the table. But since you're so curious, I'll let you in on a secret-- I'd gladly trade places with you." Oh, Bones, sweetheart, but yeah, that shut him up.

"Sorry, Temperance." He actually did look sorry. Honestly, is he this uncouth around customers, or does he save it all up to take out on me and you?

Your eyes glinted as you responded. "You should be, you're pretty obnoxious, you know, now hand me a pudding." My dad laughed and obliged. You finished about half, then gave the rest to me to finish, which is fine because I really only have room for this half one and maybe one more and just a piece of the shoofly and a piece of the mince.

We finally kicked all the champagne about a half hour later, and then I went and got out the scotch, and Mom and Dad were getting increasingly handsy, which makes me glad all over again that their room is at the far end of the hall. Jared was rolling his eyes and started clearing the plates and the rest of the pies, and I was content to let him, because even he was full and it would probably be at least another hour before he started honing in on the leftovers. And anyway, Mom showed me where she hid the pies and promised me there was another apple one somewhere just for me in the morning. "Temperance said you've been looking forward to my pie all week, so I saved you one."

Bones, you're the best.

- - - -

I was starting to gather dessert dishes into a pile on the coffee table when you came back in from the kitchen and interrupted me. "Bones, you already helped with the dinner dishes, let Jared finish up."

You were giving me the '_no, I'm not being bossy, I just want him to do some work, okay?_' look, which is okay with me. "Fine with me. Your parents already go up?"

You rolled your eyes. "I'll say. And they took the rest of the pumpkin pie with them. And the whipped cream. I had plans for that, damnit."

I couldn't help it, I snickered. Apparently many things run in the family.

I walked out with you to the hallway, and you stood and waited at the foot of the stairs. With a smile, I put my hands around your neck, and when you'd started up the stairs, I murmured, "Heigh, ho, Silver, away."

"Bones, you don't know what Cheers is, but you can quote The Lone Ranger?"

"What? Even I'm not that clueless."

- - - -

"I'm sorry again about Jared." You were running your fingers up and down my stomach, your breath hot on my shoulder and your voice soft in my ear as you lay behind me, holding me to you.

"Don't apologize. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you earlier, it's just, your parents deserve to be proud of you. You deserve to be proud of you."

You exhaled, your fingers still tracing the hollow of my stomach and my ribs. "They don't know, Bones…"

"I know, and there's no reason for them to know, but none of that changes the fact that you don't give yourself enough credit for all the good things you do. They love you, Booth, they deserve to know that you're as good a man as they raised you to be."

You said nothing, just lowered your lips to my neck and started sucking and kissing your way up to my earlobe, the hand at my stomach coming up to brush the undersides of my breasts as your other hand crept from my hip to the join of my thighs. Heat was pooling within me, stoked again almost instantly, your hot breath in my ear and the firm length of your erection against my back causing my breasts to become heavier, my nipples tingling and firming with desire. "Booth," I whispered, "your parents…"

"Bones," you husked, "I don't really care, and anyway, their room's at the other end of the hall. You'll just have to be quiet…" Your explanation trailed off as you pushed aside the hair at the nape of my neck to bite your way down each cervical vertebrae, the hand teasing the top of my mound pushing between my legs until I shifted, leaning back into to you to afford you access. You pulled away from me then, and pulled me onto my back, then came to straddle me, your hands pinning mine to the bed, one thigh between mine, pushing up until my center was pressed against you. Lowering your head to my breast, you took me into your mouth, biting the flesh lightly as your tongue teased my painfully aching nipple, and my hips bucked against your thigh. I jerked as I came into contact with the firm heat of you, but your hands held me firm as the friction caused me to then jolt away, all the while you sucked at my breast.

"Aaaaahhh, Seeley," I moaned, trying to be quiet, but you just laughed as you rubbed up against me again, then started licking and biting your way across to my other breast. "Shhh, Bones, you've got to be quiet," you murmured, forcing your leg up against me further, until I was riding it, the friction causing my heat to become painfully tense. I moaned your name again, at your mouth on my breast sucked me hard, then released my with a pop. You shifted your hands then, pushing mine up over my head until you could take both wrists in one hand, your knee against me continuing the friction, as I started to buck and thrash, sensation pooling in me as an ache burned in me for you to fill me. Your free hand squeezed my breasts again, rolling my nipples between your fingers, until I was panting and let out a whine, "oh, please, Seeley," and you laughed at me again.

"Now Temperance," you growled, "You're the one who said you wanted to go for a ride, earlier, I'm just giving you what you want. Did you change your mind about a little bareback riding, sweetheart?" Your words drew another groan from my throat, as you laughed at me again, whispering, "shhhh" as you lowered your head to suck at my neck and my shoulder.

You shifted your weight, removing your thigh and letting your hand trace firmly down my stomach and across my folds, your thumb resting and pressing on my clit as you pushed your fingers inside of me. Oh, you were filling me, but not enough, it's never enough until your length is inside me, but oh, your talented fingers were twisting inside of me, curling in that '_come here_' gesture that never fails to make me obey, so I gasped as I came, a moan bursting from me as your thumb stroked me in the midst of my spasm, provoking another orgasm from me as your fingers continued their motion inside me. You raised your head and sealed your mouth against mine, taking my tongue into your mouth and sucking at it as your thumb continued its pressure, pushing at me as you withdrew your fingers, coating my clitoris with my own moisture as you returned your fingers inside me, and circled my cervix with your fingers, stretching and filling me with a third finger as I moaned into your mouth, my involuntary verbal response muffled my your lips on mine.

You continued your torment, again and again, letting go of my wrists as I lay there, limp, able to focus only on your fingers plucking my nipples as you pushed at my clitoris, the fingers inside me curling against my G-spot. I was sweating and shuddering with the force of the multiple orgasms you drew from me, and I screamed into your mouth again and again as you tormented me, my walls cramping with a need for your fullness even as you brought me to climax again.

I managed to tear my mouth away, panting, "Oh, Seeley, please, no more, please, I need you inside me," before you recaptured my chin with your hand and brought me back to look up at you, eyes fierce with love and desire. You let go of my chin and slipped your hand behind my head, your fingers tangling in my hair as you brought me up for another breathstealing kiss, your thumb pushing once more against me as I arched back against your hands and screamed again against your kiss, your teeth against my tongue as you sucked at it. As I shattered again, you shifted your weight, removing your hand and pushing it under my back, tilting my hips up to receive you as you thrust into me. I was boneless, caught in the shudders that wracked me, aroused more by the mewling sounds that were all that escaped me as you continued to press your relentless mouth on mine, and the force of our joining again drawing a gasp from me. I inhaled your hot breath, your tongue following mine into my mouth, to suck at my lips as my tremors built with your thrust. Our lips parted as you let go of the hand at my neck, and my head lolled on the pillow as I whimpered, while you pushed my knees upward, your thrusts coming deeper as you increased the angle. I tried to wrap my arms around you, to hold on, but they were limp under the onslaught of your passion, and I could only whine, almost soundlessly, as your hand returned to clasp my head to your shoulder, the scent of our sweat and your heat filling my nose.

"Temperance," you groaned, lowly, your own head buried in my neck and my hair, as you began to thicken within me, an answering clench of my walls drawing a gasp from you as my body readied itself for you, met you, tightened around you just as you exploded within me, and we both rode out the wave of sensation, and I called out your name, "oh, God, Seeley, yes!" hoarsely, my screams from earlier damping my voice. "Temperance, Bones, oh, how I love you," you gasped, collapsing onto me and immediately shifting your weight, rolling to your back and holding me to you. I floated there, as you held me to you, the heat of your chest against mine a contrast to the cold air from where the covers had fallen to the side. "Oh, Seeley, I love you," I murmured, then drifted, as your hands clasped me tighter to you, holding me to your earth, to our home, keeping me with you. I'll stay as long as you make me.


	55. Chapter 55

I woke up early-- I forgot the sun comes in the window first thing in the morning, it's been so long since I slept here. Well, I was awake, so I figured I might as well get up.

It's no surprise that pretty much my favorite thing to look at is you, especially when you're sleeping, and you were looking really peaceful, in good color, and looking rested. I still find it strange, or counterintuitive, or something, that something as physically active as making love isn't bad for you, but Delia laid into me when I sent her an email to check, so I guess she knows what she's talking about. And the objective fact, as you would say, is that you usually sleep better and are perkier after, so I guess I'm worrying about something I shouldn't. I can't really help it, though.

I changed, and left you a note, and headed downstairs. Mom was already up, she usually is, she's like you that way.

"Going for a run?"

"Yeah, just a half hour or so. Will you keep an ear out for Bones just in case?"

"Sure. I'll get you your pie out, but don't be too long, your father will probably be up in an hour or so."

"Thanks, Mom, you're the best."

"No, sweetheart, you are. Now get going before those gluttons wake up and make you give them a piece."

Anything but that.

- - - -

When I got back, you were still asleep, so I showered and changed and went downstairs, to have _my_ pie, that you told my mom to make extra for me, because you're my _wife_. Heh.

I'd just finished my pie and some coffee when my phone rang. I'd thought I heard you moving around upstairs, but they put in a half shower in the new bathroom, so I figured I wouldn't hear from you until you were basically ready to come downstairs.

"Ward Cleaver."

"Good morning, Ward," you chuckled. "I was wondering... it seems my horse, Silver, ran off in the night, and I'm wondering if you, oh wonderful husband, would be willing to escort me downstairs instead?"

"Be right up, June, honey." Heh. You said husband.

Mom was smiling as I snapped my phone shut. "I would love her for no other reason than seeing you smile so much."

- - -

"Hello, gorgeous wife."

"Hello, gorgeous husband," you replied, pulling on another of those cashmere knit dresses, navy this time, that Angela got you over a silk underslip. At least you were wearing tights-- it was supposed to be a little chilly today.

"Studly, Bones, not gorgeous. Or hot. Macho, incredibly handsome. Hell, well-structured and symmetrical, even. Not gorgeous."

"Whatever, gorgeous. Get me the green suede clogs and the matching belt from my bag, please?"

"Bones. Green clogs? Branching out into the color spectrum, I see."

"Consider them socks," you smiled. "They're comfortable. You're just a giant, contagious, colorfully loud accessories machine."

You settled your belt and checked your makeup again, and then imperiously waved at me until I picked you up. "Come on, Ward, your mother and I have temples to see, Amish to visit, brass pigs to pat, and lingerie to buy."

"Just do me a favor? Make sure you set yours conspicuously apart from my mom's, so I don't go fondling her underthings by accident?"

"Deal."

As we were headed downstairs, I remembered. "Hey, where are the tickets for today?"

"In the inside pocket of your leather jacket."

Oh. "Since when?"

"Monday."

Damn. "I've been wearing that jacket all week! They were _so not_ in there." Oh, God, that sounded like I was channeling Sweets, there.

"Beets, eggplants, inside jacket pockets-- it's always in plain sight, Booth."

"You're a punk, Bones."

"Ah, but I'm _your_ punk, Booth." Hey, that's right. _My_ Bones, my punk.

- - - -

"Mmmmm, bacon," said your father, as he entered the kitchen, trailed by your brother, both of them wearing that same half-glazed, '_mmmm, pork products_' look you get, too. You'd already set it aside to degreasify (Bones, that's not a word.)(Do you have a better one, Booth?)(No, actually, that's a pretty good one, better than 'drain'.)(Of course.)(Punk. _My_ punk.) and were making your Super-Duper Seeley's Cheesey Scrambled Eggs as I worked on an apple and some tea. Your mother was literally toasting a dozen English muffins in the triple-wide toaster.

"Caroline, are they really going to eat all that?"

Your father picked up your mother for a lusty kiss, then shot me a wink and replied. "Let's just say I worked up an appetite after dinner."

You groaned. "Dad, we know. The whole neighborhood knows. Bacterial life forms on Mars know."

"Son," your father began, his eyes twinkling, "you shouldn't complain. When you're my age and you still have all your hair, no gut, and can still go four hours in the sack with your lovely wife, you will thank me for ever single lascivious chromosone I've passed down to you."

Four hours? Your chest puffed and you smirked as you served up the eggs. Well, if you're not going to, I will.

"See, Booth, it's just as I was trying to tell you. It's an evolutionary fact that each generation is twice, sometimes three times as strong and long-lasting as the generation before."

It took a minute for your dad to catch up. "Temperance!" He's cute when he blushes. And funny when he sprays coffee all over his eggs.

- - -

I was a bit concerned about whether your mother would be bored by the tour Professor Moriarty arranged-- I wish you'd told me she was a history major in college, I'd have worried a lot less. Their Mayan artifacts from Guatemala were truly astounding-- it's a small collection, but in near-perfect condition, and they were excavated before the civil war spread beyond the urban areas in the late 1960s and 1970s. By the time I traveled there, there hadn't been a dig in ten years, and the local economy was essentially destitute-- the research institutions wouldn't pay for a dig that would be threatened by guerilla activity, and so the local residents who once were paid for homestays and assistance with such things as water and food and animals for the site lost that income, and entire villages would suffer. Did you know that as little as one dig a year would essentially support an entire village, sometimes two? In any event, though, the professor was telling us that the University was contemplating a new dig down there, and Daniel and I were discussing a project a colleague of his at Harvard is contemplating, so perhaps the villages will have some economic support soon.

Anyway, your mother seemed to enjoy the museum, and the professor was intrigued by her description of the necklace you'd had made for me-- apparently their museum works with the nearby design school on selecting museum pieces from which to make reproductions, and they've been looking for new jewelry pieces to replicate and sell. I promised I'd send him the name of Angela's friend and a photograph-- these 'squinty jewels' of yours are quite popular, Booth.

- - -

"So, where was she hiding the tickets?"

"My inside jacket pocket."

"Damn. I never would have looked there." My father just shook his head, as Jared joined in.

"She's sneaky, Seel. Real sneaky."

I guess obliviousness runs in the family. But you still haven't explained where you were hiding that gun in your Wonder Woman costume.

- - - -

The market is really incredible, Booth. There are dozens of stalls, and I found an incredible raw milk cheese that Sid is going to love. It's fascinating, the array of cultures under the roof-- their are recent immigrant farmers selling produce and prepared foods alongside Amish vendors and farmers who have been working their farms for generations-- yet all working together in a joint commercial enterprise founded upon our culture's rediscovery of the social, economic, and nutritional superiority of local food and food products. We had a delicious lunch at one of the Amish food vendors, and yes, there are leftovers for you.

Also? I want a Philbert. I'll get rid of two Maori war clubs in trade. (And the mummy.) (I like the mummy.) (So, put it in your office at the lab.) (But I already have a mummy at work.) (Well, Bones, you've got an unusual problem, then, most people don't have two mummies. And, that thing is just creepy. I don't want it in the house, you probably think it would look nice in the dining room as a place to store linens.) (Hah, hah, I would never contaminate a museum piece with ordinary tablecloths. Only if you put that case full of hockey projectiles in your man room or someplace I don't have to look at it.) (Done, for two African masks, my pick.) (And the sweatpants. You know which ones I mean.) (Bones, those are just getting comfortable!) (Booth, they have more holes than fabric. I don't want my Booth giving the world a show, thank you very much.) (Okay. Heh. You said _my_ Booth. You know why? I'm your _husband_.)(Just, get rid of them, please? Husband?) (Heh.)

- - - -

"We need more beers and hot dogs, Jar. Get to it."

"Come on, Dad, Seel, I've already gone in twice, and it's not even halftime."

"Your brother beat you, fair and square. Now, make sure mine has relish and onions this time."

"It has to be a trick coin. No coin falls heads up six times in a row."

"Jared, are you accusing your brother of cheating? Seeley is a highly-regarded law enforcement officer!"

"Dad! Just... no... but... fine. I'll be right back."

Remind me to thank Jack for lending me that "always heads up" trick coin from that magic kit I bought him. Jared always calls tails.

- - - -

"Those are lovely Caroline, and that one's almost scandalous."

"Yes, isn't it? Richard will love it. It's very tear-worthy."

"I just call Booth 'Seeley, despoiler of lingerie.'"

"Oh, I like that, dear. Do you mind if I use that?"

"Please, feel free."

- - - -

"Seeley, please, can I drive?"

"When we get out of the parking lot. It's tight in here."

"Are we going to Geno's or Pat's for a cheesesteak?"

"Dad. They're across the street from each other. You're losing your touch if you're not up for both."

"What? Of course I'm up for both! But, Geno's cheese fries are better."

"No, Pat's are." Jared and I spoke at the same time. Well, cheese fries and pie are not two bad things to have in common.

- - - -

You and Mom were on the couch, having pudding and tea when we got in, and there were shopping bags _everywhere_.

"Jesus, Bones, how much stuff did you buy?"

"One of those bags is all socks and neckties from Boyd's, I'll have you know."

"Well, okay then." I mean, if you're buying me socks, I can hardly complain. And I do owe you more underwear.

"Richard, you knew we were going to dinner! What do you _mean_ you had two cheesesteaks and two orders of cheese fries!"

- - - -

"Are you enjoying supper so far?" I was met with silence, as all three Booth men attacked the newest plate of sashimi laid down by the chef, and even Caroline was busy with some of the delicious seaweed salad. You downed your fourth piece in nearly as many seconds, then looked up and smiled.

"Oh, my God, Bones, this is the best sushi I've ever had in my life. I can't believe you got us in to Morimoto without reservations, _and_ that he's personally bringing us the _Omakase_ menu. That spicy tuna roll? Incredible. How on earth did you get us in?"

"Oh, Masaharu's the president of the local fan club. He's a big Kathy and Andy 'shipper. I met him the last time I was here for a signing, and he said to just call when I was next in town, if I actually had time for dinner."

"Well, he can be as big a fan as he wants as long as he keeps those sushi rolls coming. He's like Sid, except with raw fish." The three of you practically grabbed at the next plate, as Masaharu set down an order of vegetable tempura.

"Thank you, Masaharu, everything's delicious."

He smiled and responded. "Well, it's my pleasure. I mean, how often do I get to meet the inspiration for Andy Lister?" You just smiled and puffed out your chest as you pulled up a piece of sweet potato.

Okay, I am done with the constant assumptions that I'm Kathy and you're Andy. It's fiction, for heaven's sake. "Masaharu, I'm afraid you're mistaken. Booth isn't the model for Andy, I wrote the first book before I ever started working with Booth-- and besides, if he was, Andy would be a far more complex and nobler character than he currently is. Andy is just a composite of several different agents I've worked with over the years, plus a sprinkling of imagination. Booth's the real thing."

You're cute when you blush.


	56. Chapter 56

"Booth, we need to stop at Vincenzo's to pick up my dress and the things I bought you."

"Why is your dress there?"

"Because Vincenzo wanted to see the fabric so he could match the things I ordered for you."

"And you didn't think to ask me whether I wanted some outrageously colored matching tie, cumberbund, socks and boxers? It didn't perhaps occur to you that perhaps, for once, I wanted to dress like a penguin? You presumed that I would prefer some snazzy silk boxers and cushy cashmere socks? They _are_ silk and cashmere, right?"

Ow. You didn't have to hit me that hard.

"Mr. Booth! Mrs. Booth! How wonderful to see you." Vincenzo came flying out of the back room when we entered the store. "Ah, _cara mia_," he said, taking your hands and kissing both cheeks, "how _bellisima_ you are, each time I see you." Geez, you must have spent a lot of money, usually he's all over me with the kissing, but today, I'm chopped liver.

"Hello, Vincenzo," you said with a '_you're such a cute little man who loves that we spend so much money with you_' smile. "It's been too long. Tell me, how is Anamaria?"

"Oh, she misses you and your husband so much!" And then he reached up to pinch my cheek. Okay, guess I'm not chopped liver after all. Of course she misses me, I took the unit there when Charlie transferred to RICO, and she's been packed ever since. Which is fine, since it means there's at least one table free at Sid's most of the time.

"Well, it's been busy at work, unfortunately, but we're hoping we'll get to go out to dinner soon." True enough, as it is. He bustled back into the back room and came out with a garment bag for you and a bag full of tissue-wrapped things that I assume was for me.

"You, Mr. Booth," he twinkled, "are a lucky, lucky man. Your wife here has a fine sense of color and pattern, and to have such a wife who appreciates a man's need for a little self expression-- well, few are so lucky."

You were murmuring under your breath. "Really, I just pick out the most hideous thing, it's not that hard." I coughed, and you spoke up more audibly. "Well, Vincenzo, you have such a wide array of things to choose from, you make it easy."

"Well, _bellisima_, with such taste and _eleganza_, your husband is a lucky, lucky man."

"Can't argue with you there, Vincenzo. What's the damage?" He pretended to be wounded, as he always did when it came time to pay, but it was all part of the act. We pretend like he's dressing me for free, like a big giant Ken doll (Booth, I don't know what that means.) (Bones, really?) and he pretends like the reason he's so happy to see me isn't because I'm spending way too much money on well-cut shirts. But as soon as the whole tawdry payment thing is over, he always has espresso on offer, and you know me, coffee's the wonder drug, so I'll play along. Plus, he always tells me what new fabrics he's getting in. He's supposed to be getting a new wool blend for suits with some stretchy stuff woven into it that means it doesn't wrinkle and might not tear while I'm hopping a fence. And he showed me some beautiful swatches of new high thread-count shirt fabrics he's getting in. (Pretty boy.) (Punk.)

- - -

Natalia did a lovely job with the dress—I'd asked her for something with sleeves to cover the elbows and shoulders, since mine are rather knobby right now, but relatively close cut, and in a silvery-pewter to complement the beads in the necklace you had made for me. She'd come up with a stunning pewter slubbed silk fabric, and a column-style cut with princess seams and a scoop neck deep enough to display my squinty jewels. And oh, she'd lined it with a satin charmeuse slip, which is perfect because I think the slubs on the fabric might have been irritating, and it is the end of November, in any event, so the slip will make it that much warmer. But she does such a lovely job, it's worth the extra money just to not have to go shopping. I suppose it's a wasteful luxury, but my father was yelling at me about it when we had lunch at O'Reilly's and I told him I was feeling rather guilty about ordering more things from Natalia.

He'd said, "Pumpkin, you bought your lousy father and brother a house, each, and you've taken care of so many people and causes you care about, I don't think anyone's going to begrudge you some clothing that fits and doesn't irritate you." I suppose he's right, and that they are comparatively little luxuries, but it does still feel wasteful. I'll just budget the same amount that I spend to go into one of the trusts, at least then I might not feel quite so guilty.

- - - -

"Ooh, Bones! Dark red and silver polka dot socks, shorts, a tie and a cumberbund! These are pretty sedate, actually."

"Booth. That silver is so bright it practically glows in the dark."

"They do?" Hey, wait, they do kind of glow in the dark. Cool. You're the best, Bones.

- - - -

"Hello, family." Jack and Angela were already holding down a table by the time we got there, and Jack had managed to snag a bottle of scotch from the bar. I was surprised he'd agreed to come this year, normally he begs me to find something "important" for him to analyze, but I guess he changed his mind.

"Who have you beaten off with a stick from trying to join our little elite table?"

"Oh, there's plenty of room. Cam and Sully, Sweets and Anne, Clark and Amelia, and you guys and us. There's always room at a round table."

"Where is everyone else?"

Ange shook her head. "Sully was still moving stuff into Cam's place, I think Clark and Amelia weren't coming back from his parents' until today, and who knows where Sweets and Anne are- they keep sneaking off to the supply closets, which is really inconvenient when Hodgie and I are trying to get busy."

I groaned. Those two are such a bad influence, now the kids are all sneaking off for nookie at work-- it was bad enough when it was just Clark and Amelia, now Anne and Sweets were in on it, too? Whatever. As long as they stay out of your office. At least Cam and Sully had managed to keep a lid on it, too. Some of us have to be grown ups. "Somehow, Angela, I have to say I find it hard to sympathize with someone whose major problem is not being able to have sex at work whenever she wants."

She stuck out her tongue. "You and Mom are such killjoys. No, Angela and Jack, no sex at work. No, Angela and Jack, you have to actually work and write reports and help catch bad guys. No, Angela and Jack, you may not speculate openly upon how many times we've had sex before we came into work this morning, even though we're glowing like fireballs. You two are _no fun at all_."

You laughed, then replied. "Temperance and Seeley Booth-Brennan, humorless crimefighting hardasses. That's us."

"I think Seeley and Temperance Booth-Brennan sounds more mellifluous, sweetheart."

Your eyes glinted. "So speaketh Professor Poetry."

- - - -

We sat with Jack and Angela for a bit and had some scotch while we watched the room slowly start to fill up-- the gala is usually cocktails and appetizers and schmoozing for the first hour and a half or so, and it was expected that I make the rounds of the major donors, since this is the largest gathering the Jeffersonian has in the year. However, because there are usually so many in attendance, it's impossible to say hello to everyone, and it's often possible to avoid the ones whom I despise in particular. There are many who are genuinely interested in the workings of the laboratory, or in the academic research the Institute sponsors, or who are simply interested in the current exhibits, and those are never uncomfortable to talk to. But there are a fair share of donors who expect you to not just be deferential but obsequious, as if charitable donations were properly predicated upon having their egoes stroked. But the worst ones are those who think that the fact that they give to the Jeffersonian entitles them to ask personal questions of you, to make insinuations about how much time I work on my books when I could be doing work in the lab, or who make insinuations about how their money isn't needed for my salary if I'm making so much money from my books. There were a few of those in particular at the Gala, and I was really hoping I would be able to avoid them tonight.

"Hey, Bones, let's get the schmoozing show on the road, okay? The sooner we're done schmoozing, the quicker we can start boozing." You were wearing a tolerant smile-- you hate supercilious rich people even more than I do-- as you extended your hand to pull me up from my chair, then circled around me to wrap your arms around my neck.

"You don't have to come with me," I ventured. "You and Angela can have fun and Jack will lend me his arm, right?" Jack was about to nod when you replied.

"Partners, Bones? Means you don't have to schmooze on your own. My manly physique will lull the women donors into pulling out their checkbooks in the hope that I'll Charm Smile them, and my intimidating alpha demeanor will cause all the men to write checks just to make me get away from their women." Your breath was warm in my ear as you adopted your '_I'm out logicking you because I really want to get this over with_' tone.

I laughed. "It's a very logical argument, Booth, I'm finding it hard to argue with you. Although please don't use the full Charm Smile, I'd hate to have to start beating up the women donors should they think that they would get anything more from you." You snorted and nuzzled my neck, sending a warm wave of pleasure down my spine.

Jack just smiled. "Well, Double-B, since I'm deprived of your company for now, you're going to have to promise to dance with me later on."

Ange jumped in. "And I'll make the sacrifice of letting the scrawny and awkward Seeley Booth accompany me onto the floor while the two of you dance."

"Scrawny, eh," you grumbled, pulling away so you could flex your arms at Angela in a pseudo-display of alpha-male posturing. "Just for that, Angela, I'm going to make them play something strenuous, and then we'll see who's scrawny." Sliding your hand to my back, you shot Angela a wounded look and a wink at Jack. "C'mon, Bones, before I faint awkwardly under Angela's stern glare."

- - -

You're really much better at this than I am, at least with regard to the pleasant social small-talk that I still am so awkward at. I can ask them questions about their professional lives, and provide detail about the work at the lab, or about some of our cases, but the ones who are professional philanthropists, or spoiled trophy wives, are always beyond me. I can't imagine doing nothing but going to parties in exchange for giving away money. But you have a good sense of what are the right personal questions to put them at ease, and make them feel like you're interested, even as you've got that '_we are so making fun of this one when we get out of here_' look. And that tie doesn't glow in the dark as much as I thought that it would-- your peacock personal accessories habits make you stand out, in a good way, an alpha-male in full plumage among a flock of drab penguins. Certainly the women think so. I don't like the way that socialite in the purple low-cut dress was stroking your arm, or the way she was looking down her nose at me. She's one of the ones who always accuses me of "extracurricular activities" while I'm writing my Kathy and Andys.

- - -

You were getting along really well with one of the donors I actually like very much-- he's an active board member at the children's hospital, and runs a biotech company working to improve the stability and availability of vaccines-- he made most of his money through inheritance, but he's very hard-working and successful in his company, and is quite generous with his time and his money. Daniel Goodman joined us to say hello, and I was so glad he could come, since he was leaving for Boston right after Christmas.

"Agent Booth, Dr. McDowell, would you mind if I borrowed Dr. Brennan for several minutes? Two of my colleagues from my new employer are here tonight, and are particularly interested in meeting her." You acceded, and I said my goodbyes to Dr. McDowell, then took Daniel's arm as we walked over to the other side of the room.

"You're looking lovely, Temperance. I heard from Dr. Anderson how much he coveted your necklace, and I see he was correct in enthusing so effusively over the detail."

"Well, it was all Booth's idea. He's a terrible romantic," I replied, smiling automatically, and drawing a smile and a chuckle from him in return as we reached the two men watching our approach. Daniel made introductions, and one of the men turned out to be the Meso-American specialist who was thinking about the Guatemalan dig, and the other was an African funerary practices specialist with a particular interest in East Africa, where I'd spent some significant time. We were deep in discussion about the conditions as I'd last experienced them in Guatemala three years ago, and speculating as to what the more recent political changes might mean for regional stability, when I felt you approaching. I turned to smile, and you were still looking relaxed, as your hand reached my back and you waited for a break in conversation for me to make introductions. I relaxed a bit when your hand came to rest against me; Daniel is an attentive escort, but he's simply not used to when I might become slightly dizzy, but you are, and always push into me a little with your hand when I brace myself, which is helpful. Plus, I just like it when you touch me. We wrapped up our conversation not long thereafter, once Daniel extracted a promise that I either dance or share a glass of champagne with him later, leaving me a graceful out in the event I was tired. He's such a gentleman, it's been lovely having him back, even for a short while.

As we moved away, you murmured in my ear, "Who's next?"

I stepped to the side so we could scan the room. Ah, there he was, and not far away. "The House Ways and Means chairman? He and his wife, the woman in the red organza gown, are right over there."

You nodded, smiling. "Let's get the shakedown started. How is he on military issues?"

"I think you'll like him. He's consistently voted against the wars and doesn't hesitate to criticize the administration, but he always votes for the spending bills, on the position that the troops aren't responsible and shouldn't suffer for the poor decisions of their leaders. He's also very nice, and I believe he has a son in medical school."

"Well, let's have our way with Mr. Ways and Means, then, shall we?"

- - -

You were doing well, so far, tonight. That dress is really stunning on you, it skims your curves very temptingly, but it's still classy out the wazoo. You'd had a good nap in the car on the way home and then managed a big lunch at Sid's before we went to Vincenzo's. I felt bad about brushing off the Anamaria suggestion, but as good as she is, she doesn't have quite the level of Sid's magical powers to figure out what you can eat a fair amount of. But anyway, you looked beautiful, the deep grey-silver color of your dress highlighting your skin, and you'd put your hair up so as to display your squinty necklace and earrings, leaving your gorgeous and delectable neck bare. Maybe we can get a dance or two in later, we'll see how the evening goes. I noticed some of the appetizers making their way around seemed to contain lots of ham, or apples, or cheese-- I wonder if Camille had a word with the caterers? Anyway, you were in gorgeous color, and not visibly wobbly at all, and I was so proud to be at a big public shindig with you, getting to trade the "let me introduce you to my wife" and "my husband" thing. Heh. Because we're _married_.

"Chairman Wong," you were saying, as we reached the congressman. "It's so nice to see you again, and Mrs. Wong, that's a beautiful dress, you're looking lovely." They returned your hellos warmly, and didn't eye you up and down like some of the donors were doing. Nosy bastards, I could tell some of them were nearly bursting with the desire to ask you personal questions, but fortunately, these formal shindigs manage to impose some restraints on even the worst of people. "I'd like to introduce you to someone," you said, turning into me slightly to put your hand on my chest. Damn, Bones, I love when you touch me in public. "This is FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth, my work partner for the past four years, and my husband of the last two months." Heh, you said husband again. "Chairman Alex Wong, Cassandra Wong, Seeley Booth-Brennan."

The Chairman extended his hand, wearing a pleasant yet not-sharklike politician's smile, but then jerked, visibly, as you said my name again. "Seeley Booth?" He shot a look at his wife, who looked first at me and then back at him, her eyes widening. Okay, this is weird. "Master Sergeant Seeley Booth, of the Rangers?"

Okay, that doesn't usually come up in conversation. "It's been a while, but yes."

His eyes welled up suddenly, and he said, "From Kosovo?" And then I knew. Wong. Benny Wong? Oh, Bones, this is weird.

"You're Benny's father. And mother, of course. How is he?" You stepped slightly away, turning to watch.

And then the Congressman, the guy we'd come to hit up for support for our little VA project, not really knowing how he'd react to a personal appeal, started crying. Maybe not obvious to the rest of the room, and there wasn't anyone standing right near us, but still.

"He's fine, thanks to you." His mom turned to you and started to explain.

"Our son, Benjamin, was one of the specialists in your husband's unit when they were... deployed... prior to the NATO bombings." She means sneaking around at night deep in KLA territory, trying not to get caught or starve in freezing sleet with only MREs and what food we could scavenge, in between picking off as many genocidal maniacs as we could, but yeah, that's one way of putting it.

The Chairman continued. "Benny was... captured after... completing a mission, and was missing for three days. Your husband found him, and got him out, and managed to get him medical help in time."

Benny'd been a great shot, smart as a whip, not too gung-ho-- he knew how to be careful, and didn't need watching like some of the other kids. But... he was still a kid, nineteen, and freaked out by what was going on, though he managed it better than some of the others. Anyway, I'd given him what Intel and everyone else thought was a fairly safe target, a minor official who nonetheless took his party's agenda personally, and wasn't satisfied with sending out his bully boys when he could... participate. But one of his boys turned just as Benny pulled the trigger, one of those horrible instances of plain bad timing, and saw the shot, though not in time to push that pig out of the way, thank God for small favors. They were on him in a second, and I was out on my own recon and it was hours before I got back to where we'd been hiding and found out he hadn't called in yet. It took a day to find out where he was, and then another day to figure out a way to get in, and then one of the longest half days of my life trying to get us all in a position to rush the place at the right moment. It wasn't anybody's fault, sometimes you just have bad luck despite all the planning.

Poor Benny-- they messed him up bad, but he hadn't said anything yet, though it might not have been much longer, maybe another day or two before he cracked. It happens. We got him out, and managed to get up in the hills, but he was in a bad way and they'd done more internal damage than I think they'd planned to. You're not supposed to call in support if you can help it, but the fact that they'd gotten Benny at all meant it was going to be impossible to work there for weeks-- once they find one of you, it somehow gets easier for them to discovery the rest. So I called in a copter for Benny and they came after dark and took him, and dropped us more MREs. And more intel for targets-- see, we weren't getting out of there, just moving on to the next target area. I found out later they'd evac'd him to Germany, and he'd lost his spleen and had a lot of broken bones, but they'd also messed up his back, and he'd ruptured some discs, which was the end of a military career. They medically discharged him, and when I got home eight months later, I called around to make sure he was okay, and finally found him, in school, and thinking about pre-med. He wasn't too screwed up, and he was seeing someone privately to deal with the nightmares, so honestly, I didn't think too much more of it-- I was just relieved he was going to be okay. I think his dad was still running for Congress back then-- it didn't even register with me that they were the same family.

"I can believe it," you replied, softly, laying your hand on her arm. See, Bones, you say you're not good with the emotional stuff, and you're wrong, but you're especially wrong about being good at the emotional stuff when it really counts. The Chairman was still standing there,surreptitiously wiping his eyes, then grasped my arm and hugged me.

"Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse. "It was Providence that he was in your unit and not someone else's." You shot me a look at his choice of words, and I felt a shiver go down my spine, as you let go of Mrs. Wong's arm and held on to mine, a look of amazement and sadness and hope in your eye.

"Well, we're all just glad we were able to get him out on time," I tried, although now I was pretty shaky myself. Time to change the subject.  
"Bones mentioned that Benny's in medical school now?"

- - - -

I don't think I was as shocked as you were when Chairman Wong ended up being the father of one of your charges, but I was surprised, nonetheless. With the failure of the chemotherapy course, I'd come to conclude that Providence and Grace and Serendipity had abandoned us. I'd consoled myself to it, knowing at least that we'd had more time together than I once thought I could hope for, but the minute he mentioned Kosovo, a wash of what I could only define as hope and relief flowed through me, at the thought that perhaps maybe, my luck, our luck, hadn't run out yet. You were talking with his parents about his internship and his interested in emergency medicine and trauma surgery, as I wondered all over again about things I never believed in until September, and you.

I came back to myself as the Chairman was saying, "It's a travesty, the way this Adminstration has handled returning soldiers, and the last one was so budget-strapped that even if the President cared, the money didn't materialize. We're so lucky that we were able to send Benny outside the system to get help. He had nightmares every night for months after he came home, even with the sleeping pills they'd prescribed him."

You said quietly, "A lot of us do. It's what happens."

The Chairman just shook his head, then said, with remarkable timing, "I just wish there was something I could do, but even if I could muster all the lip service my chicken-hawk colleagues across the aisle pay, there's just no money in this economy now. Maybe in three or five years, but right now? Someone else would have to foot the bill."

The hairs rose on the back of your neck, and mine did, too. You let a beat pass, then responded. "It's interesting you say that, Congressman, because as I'm sure your aware, Temperance is an ardent philanthropist, and since getting married, one of the projects we'd discussed trying to set up involves this very issue..."

And then you were off, charming, and self-deprecating, and sincere, and serious, and oh, Booth, they were captivated. They had so many questions, and he wanted details, and she was mentioning the names of officers' wives whom she could call to ask for help, and we talked to them for another twenty minutes until the Congressman paused, and said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, we shouldn't monopolize your time." Monopolize our time? I'd let him take up the rest of the Gala, the amount of interest he'd shown. "But please, will you make sure to send me the prospectus, and I'll have my office call you both to set up a meeting with some other House and Senate members I think might be interested? This is just the kind of thing I couldn't get my mind wrapped around to propose-- you really need to have experienced it to understand what's needed."

We agreed, and said our goodbyes, and walked a bit off until we were at one of the windows, your hand still a little shaky on my back. I don't blame you. I was feeling a little shaky myself. You wrapped your arms around my waist as we looked out the window. A shooting star arced across, and I stiffened at the same time that you did. I murmured "make a wish, Booth," as I thought to myself, the suddeness of renewed hope making me rash, "_I want Booth and Parker and our family and friends, and maybe, someday, little Booth-Brennans for years. Please?_"

- - - -

The rest of the Gala was dreamlike, no, really Bones, it was. We went back to the table after I made my wish, "_Just let me take care of her_," and laughed and talked with the rest of the team, as people came and went from dancing and schmoozing and eating, and you allowed me to pull you into my lap and pet you while Angela loaded you up with appetizers, and you finished them all, then proceeded to drink Sweets under the table again. At one point when Sweets was declaiming about his supposed ability to carry his liquor, Anne leaned across and murmured, "Thanks, Dr. Brennan, it's always so much fun when he's tipsy. Will you be using your office later?"

"Anne!" you choked.

I shot her a warning look. "Don't you dare, kid. Bones' couch is strictly off limits. The Hoover's a ten minute walk, go use his couch."

She snickered, and said, "What makes you think that we haven't?"

"Umm, eew. So glad we're not in therapy anymore."

She snickered again, then said, "I like my personal therapy sessions with Dr. Sweets very much. But don't worry, I'll stay out of her office."

You danced with all of our boys, including Sweets, once he got his feet under him again, and Daniel, and again with Sully, who was animatedly telling you all about the rip-roaring fight he and Camille had about what was going where in her apartment, culminating in what Camille told me was "fabulous make up sex" while I was dancing with her. Ange and Anne were slightly more discreet, but just barely, at least until Ange slapped my ass before letting Jack cut in. Okay, not dignified, making an FBI agent yelp in surprise on the dance floor.

"Okay, Cam, I don't need to know that," I'd grumbled, but I was happy for her and for Sully, and not just because I'm an alpha-male with a need to keep all other competitors for your attentions squared away. In fact, screw this. Sully's a good guy, but I'd only danced with you three times so far, and it was going to be time to go home soon. The band settled in to a bunch of old standards, so we danced through three or four songs, your small warm frame against mine and your head on my shoulder, perfectly placed so I could smell your hair. Angela told me once about a hair-sniffing incident she caught Jack out at once before they'd gotten together, and how she'd called him "a man of odd enthusiasms," but you women just don't understand how good you smell. It's not odd at all. Ask any guy, and he'll tell you that the smell of his true love's hair is sweeter than all the bacon, or pie, or Philly-style cheesesteaks in the world. And you smell best of all.

- - - -

"Did you have a nice night, baby?" You nodded, kicking your shoes off and starting to unclasp your necklace. "I'll do it," I murmured, kissing the nape of your neck just above the clasp before undoing it. God, I love your neck. You took out your earrings, then turned to reach up to kiss me, tugging my head down since you're such a shrimp without shoes on. I captured your tongue, sucking gently on it, as I let my hands wander up and down the fabric of your dress, the underslip sliding beneath the rough slubbed overdress, the fabric catching under my hands. You sighed into my mouth, then tugged at my shirt, after undoing the cumberbund, and tossing it aside. Breaking apart, since I could kiss you even after I run out of air, except it would be too bad if I passed out and crashed into you, I shed the rest of my clothes as you watched, then lifted your own dress over your head,leaving the underslip on. "Let me," I said, allowing myself the feel of your warmth under the satin before I pulled it over your head.

"Jesus, Bones." Oh, my God. You were wearing the thinnest, sheerest silk bra I've seen on you yet, in this pale, pale pink that was practically white, and the skimpiest bikini panties I've seen on you yet. "You are going to be the death of me," I groaned, as I picked you up and put you down on the bed. "And of course, you're wearing stockings again." Do you have any idea what you do to me? Those legs of yours, nine miles long, white and perfect? I'm glad you're not in the habit of wearing short skirts, or I'd have shot the whole district by now, and half of Virginia. I mean, most women have knobby kneecaps, or cankles, or ugly toes, or just a teeny bit of cellulite, but not you, you're perfect and smooth and soft and strong all at once. When you wore that Roxie dress in Vegas, I practically came in my pants right then, your legs and your ass just looked so damned incredible. Knowing what every inch of you tastes like and looks like doesn't change anything, and in fact, it might even make it worse, because now I know how your legs feel when they're wrapped around me, or when I've spread you open so I can taste you until you scream my name.

"Of course," you smirked. "I want to look nice."

"You look nice," I groaned, then pulled off your stockings an inch at a time, taking my time to savor each bite and lick of uncovered skin, until your legs were bare to my fingers and tongue, and you were whimpering as I teased you. When I looked back up at you, your nipples were hard against the fabric of your bra, the fabric so sheer I could see their rosy color right through it, and your panties were wet as I continued to trail my way up your leg with my tongue, flicking and stroking in alternation, because I like to hear you sigh and moan, one after the other. I stroked my finger across the fabric between your legs, as you opened your eyes, deep blue and glassy. "Goddamnit, Bones, you are so fucking perfect," I groaned, as you opened your legs to me and sighed as I touched you again through your panties, then repeated the motion, rubbing your clit through the silk until the fabric dampened again, your scent rising as you moaned.

Screw this. I only like you in your underwear for so long.

"Booth!" you moaned, as I tugged at the side strap, then tossed them aside as I reached up to do the same with your bra.

"Bones, we can afford it, and I'm not waisting ten extra seconds with needless undressing," I murmured, then licked my way down your sternum and stomach. I lowered myself between your legs and licked you once, then stopped, because I love to hear you gasp the first time I put my mouth on your center, and listen to your breathing turn ragged as you wait for me to do it again. I just can't get over the fact that you want me, sometimes.

"Seeley, please," you whined, as I blew on your clit and watched the flush spread across your chest, your eyes filled with need. Fine with me, I need to taste you anyway. I licked at you again, lapping your folds until you were arcing your hips and gasping, then circled your clit with my tongue before I drew your lips into my mouth and sucked at you. Your hands were wadded in the bed sheets, your knees pushing you up, your toes curled as you hips thrust against me. "Aaahhhh, Seeley!" you called, as I thrust my tongue into you, and pushed your hips down into the bed so you couldn't back away from my mouth, like you sometimes do when you're coming. I scraped your walls with my tongue, thrusting as deep as I could until I found your spot, then drew the tip of my tongue back and forth as you screamed, your hips bucking but still on the bed as I held you to my mouth. I nipped at your clit, and then sucked it, moving my fingers inside you as you moaned from the suction, your hot walls tightening around my fingers as I stroked and stretched you. The flush on your chest had spread, and your cheeks were rosy, your eyes closed and your head thrown back, your hands opening and closing reflexively while you moaned as I increased the pressure of my tongue on you. You were trembling, and I could tell you were close, so I sucked you harder as I curled my fingers inside you, twisting them until you arced up and flooded around me, your heat clenching around my fingers as I reached again for your spot, and stroked you hard, again. I love that I can make you come again when you're coming, it's so unvelievably hot, and you're the most beautiful thing in the world when you're lost in the midst of your orgasm.

"Oh, Seeley, oh my god, please," you panted, your hips bucking again as I licked your clit one last time, then levered myself up and over you. Your eyes were still closed as I slid into you, fast, and they snapped open as you screamed "Yes!" when I filled you. That first time I fill you, each time, it's a fight not to come right then and there, you feel so ... well, home is the only word for it, but I wouldn't be a Booth if I couldn't let that first urge pass long enough to keep going, to fill you until you shatter, and tremble, and your voice goes hoarse from calling my name, and then do it all over again-- until your silken heat and your smell and your hands holding me to you, your heels digging into me, your fragrant flood of heat and wetness around me and the force of your spasms rips it right out of me, shocking and painful and so pleasurable and perfect every single goddamned time. I'm glad that bastard upstairs moved out, because there's no way I'm not making love to you so that you're waking every damned dog on the block-- there's nothing like hearing you shriek my name "Seeley!" when I make you come again by sucking your perfect breasts as I thumb your clit and slide into you.

I lifted your hips under you as you quaked from your last orgasm, and your hands gripped my wrists where I was bracing myself by your hips, your nails digging into me as you thrust your hips back against mine. "Oh, Booth, oh, I can't, please," you begged, trembling as I stroked your clit again with my thumb, and you jerked as you did it again, your walls clenching so hard that was it, as I jerked out and then you pulled me back in, squeezing me with your perfect silk heat until I erupted inside you. "God! Temperance!" It always surprises me, and it always will. Being with you will never get old.

You were wheezing, your chest heaving and hands clenching still around my wrists, as I pulled myself from you with a groan, and you whimpered, eyes closed and head lolling. I rolled to my side, your body unresisting as I pulled you into me, the perfect curves of your ass nestled into my hips. It's like you're the perfect puzzle piece to my body. "I love you," you whispered, your chest heaving against me, the heat and the sweat of you against my chest. "I love you so much," you panted, "more than anything."

"Oh, baby, I love you too," I replied, as my cock hardened like it always does, everytime I hear you say it. Your sigh as you said it again when I pushed your hip forward, then slid myself into you from behind, and your moan as I filled you again, rocking and cradling you to me? Heaven.


	57. Chapter 57

"Dr. Bones? What are you working on?"

I'd been sitting at the island working on my galley, and Parker's voice startled me. I'd sent the two of you off to the playground after church because I wanted to work on the book, and when you'd gotten home, you're taken him down to the basement (I told you my father would finish that staircase) to play pool. He sounded thrilled, as far as I could tell, but I was intent on getting as much done today as possible-- the NCJA was this weekend, and now I was down to only one full day a week at the lab, which would be gone this week because of the conference, so I wanted to get through my first pass of the manuscript today, so that I wouldn't have to do too much work on it tomorrow or Tuesday before I sent it back Wednesday.

"Did you know I write books, Parker?"

He nodded.

"Well, when you write a book, you check it over a number of different times after you're done, like homework. This," I said, holding up the galley, "is the last time I get a chance to make sure everything's right, all the words and the spellings and punctuation. Once I finish this, I send it back to Karen, my publisher, and she makes the corrections. Then it gets made into a book, with a cover and the special design we picked out, and they print it and send it to the stores to sell."

"Will I get to read it?"

You laughed as you emerged from the basement. "Not for a while, there, buddy. Bones' books are for grownups. When you're older, like, thirty, you can read them."

"When's thirty?" he asked, clearly trying to do the math in his head.

"A long, long, time, pal."

--

"Why does Paddington always want marmalade? I had some once, and it's really gross."

"How much did you have, Parks?" you asked, a curious look on your face.

"Oh, just two bites. It's really bitter and gross."

"Generational improvements, Booth," I smirked, then went back to reading the book, Parker nestled between us on the couch.

"Bones, anyone ever tell you you're a punk?" you grumbled.

"Bones, what's generational? Daddy, what's a punk?"

--

"Oh, Booth," I exhaled, as we came in from the garden.

"Yeah," you replied, coming to stand behind me and hook your chin over my shoulder as you wrapped your arms around my waist.

"Five" was taller than wide, framed with the same platinum-painted ebony as the others. It was the moment of our first married kiss, and indeed, she'd captured "_When our two souls stand up erect and strong/Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher," _the two of us, the same light as always, in the midst of a pale gold wash, "_our deep, dear silence," _a space of light that nonetheless seemed like a solid wall between us and the rest of the world. Surrounding the golden silence, "_a place to stand and love in for a day,"_ the paint warmed to a sunny orange, the underpainting suggesting the witnessing presence of all of our families, by choice, by chance, by blood, and shading at the outer margins to a muddy red, "_the unfit/ Contrarious moods of men" _giving way, in this painting, to the merest suggestion of a thin, muddy red-black border, the _"darkness and the death-hour rounding it._" It was there, but not, for that one moment, a looming threat.

"We'd better tell Carol to hurry up with the construction schedule," I murmured. "We don't have anywhere to put it."

"I'd like it in my office until we do," you replied. "The photos Ange did are nice, but this is ... the best of all."

It is.

--

You were out checking in with Jack on the particulates and saw blade orders when my cellular phone rang.

I checked the caller ID. "Hi, Dad."

"Sweetie, hi," he croaked. "Listen, honey, I'm sorry, I've got a terrible cold, and I don't think it's a good idea for me to take you today." He sounded terrible.

"You're probably right," I replied. "I'm sorry you're sick, I hope you're not going to be alone all day today."

"Oh, I'll be fine," he coughed, "I'm just sorry I can't go with you this afternoon."

"Dad, it's alright. I'll figure something out." I tried to sound sure, but I wasn't. We were still not making much progress on the Fratellis, you had the internal investigation meeting about Kenton and Santana and Evidence today, and you and Sully had forty-five people to interview, since, of course, the security tapes for Building Seven were missing for the entire time since Kenton escaped. If I asked someone from the lab to go with me, it would slow the process even further, and we needed to get the case moving again.

"Look, I'm sorry Pumpkin, I'll call you tomorrow, alright?"

"Fine. Feel better, Dad."

"Your dad's sick?" you asked, coming back into the room just as I was ending my conversation. As I nodded, your forehead furrowed.

"He's got a bad cold; he sounds terrible." You frowned, then exhaled loudly as I looked at my watch. "Booth-- you'd better go, I'll have someone run me over when it's time and ask Delia to give me a ride home, okay? She or Henry can probably oblige."

"I don't like 'probably.'" You checked your own watch, and that line in your forehead got deeper.

"Booth, neither do I. I'll make some calls this morning, and if I can't confirm a ride home, I promise I will let you know. Okay?"

"No, it's not, but I do have to go," you sighed, then came over to pull me into your chest, your heart thumping erratically, your arms almost vise-like around me. "I hate this fucking rollercoaster."

"I know," I said, pulling you down for a kiss, holding on to you a bit longer than I really want to admit I needed to. "Me too. I'll send you a message later, I promise."

Your eyes dark, you tightened your arms around me further and tucked my head under your chin. "I don't want you going alone. If you can't get anyone to go, the meeting won't fall apart if I leave early."

"I'll see what I can do, and I'll send you a message." I pushed away. "Booth, get going, I'll talk to you later."

You nodded, and started out of my office, then turned and came back, seizing me for a desperate, breath robbing kiss, then held onto me while my knees firmed up again. "I love you too," I said, as you kissed my forehead, then left again.

--

I was on the platform, showing Anne some microfracturing she'd missed in a Limbo analysis, when Lance arrived, not long after your meeting had started. He was watching behind us as I showed Anne the lines on the skull, then walked to the computer to bring up some images of cases where the microfracturing ended up being relevant to the cause of death and the outcome of the investigation. Clark then added the information from the Kirby case, though it was a little awkward since we were all saying "the murderer" instead of "Max," which is what people usually call my father. The microfracturing wasn't determinative in this Limbo case, but it is a hard finding to make, and she needed to be able to recognize it in the future. I'd left a message for Delia and Henry about getting a ride home, but neither of them had returned my call, yet, and I noted it was time to probably call you. I hate this. But you don't have to come for the whole thing, just pick me up when it's over. It's not like I haven't got practice.

I took off my mask and my gloves, and sanitized my hands before heading off the platform. Those five stairs are normally not a problem, I've got significant muscle memory of their height and width, but I don't know what happened this morning, and I lost my balance and started to fall, even as I lost my grip on the railing. I could tell it was going to be bad, and braced myself for hitting the ground three steps below, trying to twist so I wouldn't hit my head when I landed. But someone caught me under my arms from behind, so that I fell backwards into whomever it was, and only landed partway on my side on the steps.

"Dr. Brennan, are you alright?" Lance asked, as he still held on to me, while I recovered my breath. That really hurt-- those stairs really cut into you when you hit the edge just wrong. He moved, slightly, pushing me forward to sit on the stair where I'd landed, and I put my hand out on the railing to hold on as he let go and stood, coming around me, looking concerned as he looked down at me.

"I'll be alright, yes, thank you, Lance," I replied, conducting an internal inventory. Nothing broken, though I would have significant contusions on my ribcage and thigh where I'd contacted the metal. I probably would have broken something if I'd hit the floor. The points of impact were quite painful, and I was a little winded from the shock of it.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, as he squatted in front of me. It was utterly silent in the lab as people pretended to work at their stations, all the while waiting to see what would happen. Jack had just come out at the noise of my fall, and stood off to the side, waiting to see if he would be needed.

"No, just, I think I'd like to go back to my office and sit for a few minutes. Would you please give me a hand, Lance?" He nodded, then came around to my side and put an arm around my waist as I pulled myself up from the railing, then managed the last two stairs without incident. I limped back to my office, my heart still pounding erratically from the scare. I was lucky I hadn't broken anything. Cam followed me in, asking if I was alright and if I wanted her to check anything.

"Just a few contusions, I think," and she nodded, looking concerned. Well, it wouldn't hurt to let her look, and then when I called you I could at least assure you that I really was fine. "Lance, thank you, really. Would you mind giving us just a moment?"

"No, I'll just be out on the platform if you need anything," he replied, hesitating before leaving the room and shutting the door.

"It doesn't feel like there's anything broken," I said, as I pulled off my lab coat and untied the tie of the dress at my waist, while standing in front of the couch. Pants had become too uncomfortable to wear any longer-- the fabric at the waist was too scratchy, but tights didn't seem to bother me. I pulled up the dress and my slip past the point on my ribcage, Cam holding the fabric away as she bent to look, making sympathetic noises as she saw the area on my ribs.

"Let me just palpate," she said, then pressed over the already swelling and hardening flesh with her fingertips. I hissed as she did so, her touch gentle but the pressure painful regardless. "You're right, nothing feels broken or fractured, how's drawing a full breath?"

I tried it, my breath still a bit ragged from the surprise. "Fine, no pain with a full inhalation." I tugged at the waist of my tights, then started to bend forward to push them down, but a wave of dizziness hit me, so I stopped, Cam grabbing my wrist as I wobbled.

"Here, hand on my shoulder, okay, and I'll do the rest," she said, as I grabbed her shoulder and held on while she exposed the area on my hip and upper thigh where I'd struck the metal. After she palpated the area, she pulled the tights back up for me, then said, "well, you'll have a nasty bruise, but nothing more." I nodded, and retied my dress, settling the fabric. She tipped her head, then said, "Why don't you sit and I'll get you some ice for those bruises, okay?"

"Thanks, Cam," I replied, then turned to locate the arm of the couch so I could let myself down. "Sorry to interrupt you."

She half-smiled. "I was working on a putrefied meth dealer. I should thank you for the interruption. I'll have someone run you in that ice."

I sat back into the cushions, sighing and closing my eyes. No one at the lab could go with me to treatment, and everyone was too busy for it to be convenient at all for them to come pick me up. I was going to have to call you, and when you found out what happened, you were going to insist on leaving your meeting, and not just come to pick me up afterward. I hate this. I hate being dependent, and I hate it interrupting our work.

"Dr. Brennan?" came Lance's voice from the doorway. I opened my eyes and he was holding two ice packs. "Dr. Saroyan said you would want these?"

"Yes, please, thank you Lance," I said, taking them from him and then settling them where they belonged. I hissed involuntarily, then remembered I'd left the phone on the other side of the room. "Would you please bring my phones over? I need to make a few calls in several minutes." He did so, then sat gingerly on the arm chair opposite me.

"So, Lance, besides well timed Forensic Anthropologist catching, what brings you to the lab?" He smiled and half-snorted, then answered.

"Oh, there's that big meeting Agent Booth and Director Cullen are having about the compromised departments-- the bad vibes coming out of that room are bringing down the whole building. There's so much yelling and finger-pointing going on in there, everybody can hear it, and my office is right upstairs and shares an air vent. Agent Booth was in a horrible mood even before it began, and he was bellowing so loudly at Harper that I don't think anyone's going to get any work done." (Bad vibes? I assume this means a negative psychological atmosphere that is nonconducive to productivity?) (Yeah, Bones, exactly.)

"Oh, dear," I murmured. "He was in a bad mood beforehand?"

He nodded. "Yeah, not like when he's usually mad at a perp though, just... dark." Oh, Booth.

"Well, my father had to cancel going to therapy with me today. He has a bad cold. I'm still trying to figure out how I'll get home. Booth's not going to be any happier when I call him, he'll insist on leaving that meeting."

Sweets nodded, then looked thoughtful. "I don't have any appointments this afternoon," he began, "so I could take you, if you're... alright with that. I was just going to take Anne out to lunch and then work on some edits to a paper I'm publishing up in the lounge, at least until the bad vibes clear over at the office."

Really, I thought to myself, I never would have thought of imposing on Lance. He'd been good company since we terminated our therapeutic relationship with him, and I'd enjoyed talking with him about the challenge of mixing academic and practical pursuits, but it hadn't occurred to me that he'd be available, so I'd been focused on other ideas about getting home.

"I would appreciate that," I replied, then smiled. "Thank you. Let me call Booth and let him know while you two go get some lunch."

"Glad to help," he replied, then got up and said, "I'll come back in an hour?"

"Thanks," I said. "Would you ask Ange to come see me in a couple of minutes?"

"Will do, Dr. Brennan," he smiled, his shoulders straightened with pride. He was proud that I'd asked him for help? Oh, poor Lance.

--

I'd given the floor back to Sam after ripping Harper and the Evidence heads new assholes. This meeting was going to be horrible, no way around it-- we had all the internal investigation reports in, and there were clusterfucks left, right, and center. My phone buzzed, so I pulled it out, the caller ID announcing it was you.

"_Fell on platform stairs, bruises only, Cam checked, Lance caught me, is going w to therapy_."

Despite your assurance, cold gripped my gut, and I flipped the phone shut, standing. "Sam, sorry, I need ten minutes," I said, then left the room. I ducked into the conference room and then dialed.

"Agent Booth, hi." There were background noises like he was at the diner.

"Sweets, what the hell happened?"

"She seemed to get dizzy, and lost her footing on the second stair, then lost her grip on the railing. I was up on the platform and caught her, just happened to be there, that's all." Thank God. But this isn't good, you're usually fine with the platform stairs, and you've got your routes all over the lab mapped with the maximum number of steps with something to grab onto and the minimum number of open steps. You shouldn't be falling on something as familiar and relatively low as those stairs.

"What did she hit?"

"Her ribs and her upper leg, but Dr. Saroyan checked her out in her office, and she was icing herself when I left. I'm ... she ... agreed to let me accompany her, if that's alright with you." He sounded hesitant. I guess I haven't been as nice to the kid as I should if he's still afraid of me, huh, Bones? It's just, I never liked the therapy thing, I was always certain he was going to break us up, even though that turned out not to be the case, so I suppose I resented in some way his presence at the lab. Even though he's a good profiler, and he's weapons qualified, though he doesn't usually carry. I would love nothing more than to ditch this meeting, but I knew Sam wouldn't scare the shit of them the way I would, so I needed to be here. And there'd been no peep, wherever the Romanos were, so it was probably okay to send you with him-- you had your weapon, and I'd call Mel or Evan to make sure they had a car at the doctor's.

"It's fine. Thanks... Lance, I appreciate it. Call me if you need anything though, alright?"

He sounded like he was smiling as he replied to the use of his first name. I suppose I should stop calling him Sweets out loud. "I will. Goodbye."

"Bye." I shut the phone, then opened it again, debating whether to call you or leave you alone. You were fine, you'd said so, and Lance confirmed it, so I'd better just text you back and get back in the meeting. I fucking hate this.

"_Pls avoid gravity rest of the day, call when finished. LOML_."

You responded almost instantly. "_J.H. working on gravity thing. LOML_."

Love of my life, that's what you are.

--

"Temperance, this isn't good. You could have broken something." Delia was shaking her head as she looked over my newest set of bruises.

"I know. How ignominious. Top forensic anthropologist battling serious cancer misses step, kills self on stairs she knows like back of her hand." She snorted, but continued to shake her head.

"There's not really anything I can give you other than what we've tried already for the dizziness. You're just going to have to be careful-- get someone to spot you when you go up and down those stairs, please?" Great. I might as well have someone attach one of those toddler safety harnesses to me, rather than ask someone to hold my hand while I go up and down five steps I've used hundreds of thousands of times.

We discussed the new chemotherapy drug regimen in some more detail, as well as the new oral medications, and then I started treatment. For the first hour, I worked on my galley, and managed to finish it, while Lance worked on some files he went back to the Hoover to get.

When I inquired how your meeting was going, he said, "He was still hollering, taking turns with Sam."

"Well, at least he's sharing," I murmured, surprising a laugh out of Lance. (I still think of him as Sweets, but I'm trying to train myself out of that.) It's odd, somewhat, to try to be friends with your former therapist, but the fact that he's worked on cases with us in his profiler role makes it a bit easier.

"May I ask what you are working on?" he asked, curiously, once I closed the galley and set it aside.

"It's the galley for my latest book," I replied, showing him the proof. He asked about the differences between academic and commercial publishing, and the difference in editing technique and publishing schedules, then discussed some case studies he was thinking of publishing, as well as the paper he was editing for publication. The conversation eventually turned to the Fratelli case and the fact that once again, we seemed to have hit a stalling point.

"This is a terribly intrusive question, and if you don't want to answer it, I more than understand, but..." He was looking very hesitant, and yet there was something about his curiosity that piqued my interest.

"Well, ask away, I'll let you know if it's too personal."

He nodded, then swallowed, then looked me in the eye. "What does it feel like to shoot someone? I mean, you've had to shoot several different people during the course of your work with Agent Booth, and... well, I couldn't really..." Yes. He couldn't really ask any of the agents what it feels like to shoot someone; they're more inured to it, and most of them are older men, who would naturally not want to admit weakness to a younger man, or admit to anything other than "just doing my job."

I looked at him, straight on, and answered as best I could. "When you're actually shooting someone? Mentally, I expect there are people who hesitate the first time that it becomes necessary, but perhaps because of my martial arts training, I didn't hesitate to pull the trigger once it was clear it was necessary. But afterward? I was frightened, and disgusted, and exhausted, and enervated, and I had bad dreams for weeks. You can't rationalize the regret for having to do it. You can only weigh it against what would have happened if you didn't, and try to make it balance out so that it doesn't overbalance the good that results from your actions. But physically? When you've trained beyond a certain point, it becomes almost a matter of reflex, there's no physical hesitation. You... recognize the threat, and your brain makes up your mind without real conscious thought, all the while the weapon's already in your hand and you're ready to fire. It... doesn't become easier, necessarily, after the first time, but once you've done it once, it's less... shocking afterward. You have to let your physical reflexes govern you. I... don't regret the lives of the people I've killed, though I do regret the fact that it ever became necessary to do so in the first place. I think not so much about the final moment when I pull the trigger, as about all the moments before that when maybe someone could have helped them... turn aside from the point where my shooting became the only option."

"Mel and Evan were talking about when you shot Agent Santana," he offered, "and they were surprised what a good shot you were, how fast you were. They... had heard about..."

"Pam Nunan?"

He nodded. "And... they wanted to know from me what had happened. I think they thought that was a fluke, that it was a lucky shot."

I shook my head. "Hardly. I practice, and Lance, I meant to kill her." He swallowed as I looked him straight in the eye as I said it. "Throat shots are usually sure to stop someone, at least with a nine millimeter. I'm sure you've read about the effects of adrenaline on the brain, how at its most effective, the world slows, and your perceptions widen and sharpen, and there's enough time to do everything?" He nodded. "For me, it's like that, though if I'd just seen her come in before she pulled her..." I trailed off. I should have seen her, and Lance and I had both been concerned about her quick transfer of interest to you from Tommy Sauer. If I'd seen her come into the bar, I would have known something was wrong, and there might have been enough time to neutralize her without it necessarily resulting in your being shot, or her death-- though I didn't regret killing her, so much as that she'd been allowed to be delusional for so long. Lance was looking at me, waiting for me to finish. "Anyway... so far, it's been like that for me. The regret doesn't get in the way of the reflex, it only comes afterward."

"Thank you," he said, solemnly. "I... I've only shot at the range, I've... never even been hunting, and, occasionally profilers have to go out in the field, and, well..."

"There are a lot of ego-driven older pretender alpha-males at the Hoover." He exhaled, and nodded. "All you can do is practice, until it becomes reflex, use the obstacle course the Hoover's firing range master sets up. The course out at Quantico is good, too, and the range masters there are very nice. If there are particular things you want to work on, they'll set something up for you, and go over it with you afterward. It's never easy, and if it starts to be, it's time to hand in your gun, but sometimes, there are more important things than bad dreams and regrets."

He nodded again, but still looked hesitant, so I guessed at what he might be thinking and continued. "Sunday mornings at the Quantico range, before ten, are very quiet, I was often the only one there. Brian, who works that shift, is very helpful. If you call him ahead of time, he'll make sure he had time to work with you." I paused, and looked at him again. "Booth said something once that is the most important thing to know about handling a gun-- everytime you kill someone, Lance, a little part of you dies. But we don't all need to be whole, to be helpful, and to still love and be loved, and worth loving. And if you practice enough, then you can concentrate on hoping, or praying, or whatever you choose, that you never need to use the practice. But without the practice, all the best intentions in the world won't stop you from hesitating, perhaps at just the wrong moment. For me, that's worse than the thought of having to kill." He was wide-eyed, and solemn.

"Thank you, I... appreciate your honesty." I patted his hand and smiled at him. He's bright, but he's so young in so many ways. I get the impression he grew up sheltered, and the violence is still a shock to him when he has to encounter it personally, apart from the intellectual approach he takes with his patients.

"Well, that was cheery. Tell me about how things are going with you and Anne," I countered, shifting the subject. He took the hint and started talking about Thanksgiving-- the two of them had gone to her parents' house in Chicago, where he'd never been before, so then we discussed the city and what he should see the next time he visited, including some of the facilities at the University. Toward the end of the second hour the medication started burning distractingly, so I sat back and counted bones until it stopped, but it only lasted about twenty minutes, and surprisingly, I wasn't too sleepy, unlike the last cocktail. I wheedled Celia into bringing extra pudding for Lance when his eyebrows perked up at my snack, and he dug in almost as enthusiatically as you do. What is it with you F.B.I. people and pudding?

--

Sam and I were wrapping up the meeting with Davidson, the head of Internal Investigations and the Director when I got your message, and flipped my phone open. I suppose it's bad manners to ignore the Director when you're in a meeting with him, but I don't really care.

"_Done, on way home, WC Sid's for 2 or 3?_." You're right, we should feed Sweets, it was good of him to go with you.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, be right with you," I murmured, then replied, Sam looking over my shoulder as I did so. "_Wrapping up soon, Sid's for 3_, _give me 30_ _mins to pick up_." I looked up and the Director didn't seem pissed, fortunately, so I looked at him and said "Thanks."

"How is Dr. Bennan?" he asked.

"She's doing alright, thank you." I wasn't going to talk about this in a meeting with the Bureau narcs in the room, it was bad enough as office gossip, but Internal are the worst ones of all.

"You two will still be attending and presenting this weekend, correct?" Was he making chit-chat? He's not the chit-chat type.

"We're planning on it. Bones will kill me if I back out on her at this point." What? You will. And I know, lights, imagining people in their underwear and all that jazz, but it's still 2500 people.

He smiled, then said, "I've never had the pleasure of seeing Dr. Brennan present, and I hear you've inspired the appropriate level of productive terror in your Evidence class. I'm looking forward to it." Yikes. The Director's looking forward to it? I'd better bust out one of my new suits, maybe pay a visit to Vincenzo to make sure I have an extra-snazzy tie.

"Thanks, I hope it will be interesting, at least." He smiled, then looked around the room.

"Well, I think we're basically done, for now. I'll expect your minutes, Davidson, and I'll send them to Cullen and Booth here for comment." He stood, and that was it, and Sam slapped me on the back.

"See you later. Tell Temperance hello." I just waved as I headed out the door.

--

You two were sitting at the island when I came in with the bags, Sweets working on a cup of coffee and you on a cup of tea when I walked in. You looked fine, and Sweets looked pretty relaxed, at least until I walked in, when he tensed up a little. Damn. I will have to be nicer to him, I guess.

"Hey, kids," I said, settling the bags down, and you smacked me, a glint in your eye.

"Kids? Okay, grandpa, whatever," you said, rolling your eyes. "Put your teeth back in and give me a kiss." I burst out laughing and obliged, then figured we could at least give Sweets a little bit of a show, in compensation for all those times we double-teamed him in therapy, so he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Plus, I do love kissing you until your knees shake, even when you're sitting.

"Hi," I said, coming back up for air. When I turned back to the food, Sweets was bright red. Heh. Well, he'll have to get used to it. Know why? (No, Seeley, let me guess. Would it be, _Heh, because you're my wife_?) (You're a punk, Bones, a punk.) )Yes, but I'm also your wife.) (Heh, you said wife.)

"Okay, we've got meatloaf and mashed potatoes for me, and Bones, you've got coq au vin, and Sid said thanks for the rooster source, by the way, and Sweets, Kung Pao chicken, medium spice, with pork fried rice." I pulled out the containers and set them out, then decided to put Sweets to work.

"Lance, there's beer in the fridge and if Bones wants some wine, she can tell you where it is. I'll have a beer, and I'm gonna go ditch the guns, alright?" He brightened again as I called him by his first name, so okay, you're right, and when his back was turned, you mouthed '_good boy_' at me.

"Sure thing, Agent Booth."

"Booth, kid, just Booth." I didn't catch his grin since I was already halfway down the hall to the bedroom, but I could practically feel it.

We talked some about what sessions we'd all planned on attending at the NCJA conference this weekend, and it was interesting, Sweets seemed to be planning on splitting his time between the squint and the cop stuff, some things I didn't think he'd be interested in, but unplumbed depths, I guess, hey, Bones? "I've never been to the Reagan," he said, "though I hear it's quite nice."

"It is," you replied. "The rotunda and atrium are truly amazing, and the rooms are all state of the art. It will be crowded with this crowd, but I think the milling in the halls will be more than made up for by the meeting rooms."

"When were you there, Bones?"

You gave me a look, then answered neutrally, "I gave a talk to some human rights organizations." Ah. Sorry. Sweets seemed to miss it, though, so that's good, and you continued. "Their manager's quite nice, I've been emailing with her about the AV requirements and some other details for Saturday night. Are you going to the cocktail party and dinner, after the keynote, Lance?"

He nodded. "Yes, I was surprised to get an invitation, but I'm going, and Anne's coming too. I have to find a tux." That is surprising, that they'd invite him to the black tie. Usually it's the speakers and then the heads of the various agencies, plus a few random less senior people, but who knew. He'd been a busy little profiler since we let him start working with us, maybe Sam had scored him an invite. I knew the rest of the squints had gotten invites, too, but that was less surprising since they were a big part of the Meg Taylor case, and stuff like that was less unusual-- there would be questions for them after the keynote, and they deserved the recognition even if there wasn't time or room for them to speak, too.

I hauled out the desserts then, and handed them around. "Bones' chocolate pudding for me and for Lance, and a lemon tart for you, Bones. Sid said to tell you that the caramel stuff is flying out of there, too." Sweets shook his head. "That caramel stuff is totally awesome, but I've got to say, Temperance, I think this chocolate pudding is the bomb."

A look of confusion crossed your face, and I murmured "he means excellent, Bones."

"Ah," you replied. Yeah, Sweets is sometimes a little hard for me to follow, too.

I saw him out to the door when we'd finished up and had another beer. Open handed pat on the shoulder, there, Seeley boy, I reminded myself as I said goodnight. "Thanks again, Lance, I appreciate it." Bones, I swear, the kid's smile lit up the whole neighborhood.

--

You'd slid off your stool at the counter and were tossing things in the trash when I came back from locking up, and turning the lights off in the front of the house. You were moving stiffly, and I had to see how bad the bruising was, right then, even though Cam also sent me a message to say it was "_Ugly, but not serious_." You didn't resist, or swat me, though, as I picked you up and went back to the room, and just tugged me down next to you on the bed for a deep kiss. "I'm fine," you murmured, you hand on the back of my neck as you kissed me again, your mouth and breath sweet and warm and reassuring, but it wasn't enough.

"I... just..."

"I know," you said, then pulled the tie at the side of your dress and let me pull it up over your head and undress you the rest of the way, watching me as I shed my own clothes and then sat down beside you..

"Oh, Temperance," I exhaled, as I got a full look. It was ugly, for sure, and my eyes watered, imagining how much it must have hurt and knocked the wind out of you when you fell. I could see where the center of the bruise on your ribcage was, where you'd banged it, the center dark red and blue, but the bruising spread out from there fully two hands' breadth-- my hands, not your little ones. The one on your hip wasn't as bad, but it was bad enough, deep purple and firm-looking, shading to deep blue, again almost a hands' breadth across. "Oh, baby," I murmured, then laid as light a kiss as I could manage on each, succeeding since you didn't flinch. The bruises were bad enough, much less the fact that it could have been a lot worse, easily so, but what they meant in terms of your overall mobility was worst of all. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

You'd set your mouth in a twisted half-smile and responded, your eyes sad and voice bitter. "I'm thinking of advertising for a large strapping grad student to do nothing but give me piggyback rides all day long."

There weren't any words I could say that would make you feel better, but I could show you I was sorry, and that it didn't change how I thought about you, so I did, lightly kissing the two bruises again and the one from today's needles, then the rest of you as you wove your hands through my hair, and held on as you cried. "Do you want me to stop," I whispered, and you shook your head, almost violently.

"No, I need to know I'm still here."

So I showed you, with kisses and strokes of my hands and my tongue, and my own tears on your skin as you clung to me when we came home together again. You gasped once in pain as my hand brushed your blue-blackened hip, but then you grabbed my hand and placed it back there again, before letting me go. "If it hurts, then I know that I'm here," you cried, my heart breaking at the pain in your voice, that it had come to this.

You were pulling me to you, desperately, still crying as I lowered my mouth to your breasts to suck and kiss at you, your body so tense that I finally withdrew from you to work your core with my mouth, to coax a release from you with my tongue in your heat and my thumb on your clit, until you seized with a scream, then went limp. You cried out as I reentered you, your tears finally stopping as your hips once again met mine, your ugly bruises invisible under my body as you held me to you and I held you to me. I urged just one more from you, reaching between us, and your walls clenching around me finally drew my own release, and your name, "Temperance!" from me as you released, limp, in my arms, your eyes glazed and unfocused, your chest heaving.

I rolled to your unblemished side, so you could curl up against me, and you did, laying your head on my heart and threading your free hand through mine.

"Still here," I murmured, bending down to kiss you again.

"Still here," you replied, your eyes fluttering closed and sleep claiming you. My Bones, my sweet Temperance-- you're right. If it hurts this much, you're still here.


	58. Chapter 58

"Doctor Double-B, dear, I'm bored." I looked up from my seat on my couch to see Jack lounging in the doorway.

"Well, by all means, then, dear Doctor Hodgins, come in and let's be bored together." I set aside the papers I'd been helping Daniel to grade—there were two more weeks left in the semester, and if I couldn't make it to class, I could at least help with the administrative work. He smiled and came in to the room, then sat down in one of the chairs and slung his legs up on the coffee table.

He sighed. "Why does every one of those tool dealers want a subpoena before they turn over their customer records? I tried calling the two manufacturers, too, and they want something besides my say so, as well. Stupid legal rights, getting in my way of experimenting with your dad's bone-sawing hypothesis. At least Stretch has limbo bodies to work on. Do you know what I have on my desk? A carbon dating request from the river conservancy for some silt from the floods in the 50s. For a nature center exhibit."

I laughed—it was too funny, the way Jack would get cranky when he didn't have anything "fun" to do. "What's the matter, Jack, no plausible excuse to get Sully to run you back over to the Navy Yard?"

He snorted, then smiled. "No, and believe me, I've wracked my brain trying to come up with something."

"Poor Jack," I murmured. "Do you want me to put the word out on the street that you'd love a really disgusting rash of tree infestations to examine?"

He snorted again. "Anything, please. I'll take an unexplained sinkhole, even. At least we've the conference at the end of the week. Do you think we need to go over our stuff on the dental polymers again?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. You've got the formulae and synthesis slides for the presentation on Friday all ready, don't you? And I've had Anne get together the x-rays and some exemplar skulls and about ten pounds of the polymer to provide to whomever's interested." We'd gotten a call a week before Thanksgiving that one of the panelists on victim identification had dropped out, and they'd asked if Jack and I would present our paper on our new dental polymer, which was nice because it's often a year before any new work gets picked up. We'd only published in August, and had already had three approving peer review pieces.

Jack nodded, and smiled. "I think we're all set then, except if you don't mind I'll ask her to burn CDs with our article and all the peer reviews so that the ones who don't have the materials already can take it with them. Do you want to make it a real show and tell, and bring a portable x-ray and put them to work on the fabrication?"

Hmm. "How much time do we have?"

"Two hours," he replied. "Plenty of time to go over the principles and process, and then walk them through the actual use."

"We might as well, though… have you checked with Cam, or the lawyer, as to whether the patent application is formally pending, before we start showing a room full of self-aggrandizing post-docs how to make our pet polymer?"

He nodded. "Yes, the application was filed before we published, and it's been accepted as pending since the day before publication, so there shouldn't be any question about licensing issues." Since we'd done the work at the Jeffersonian, in between cases, the patent application for our new polymer was the joint property of Jack, and myself, and the lab, as the sponsoring research authority. The formula was one that anyone with moderate materials science expertise could make, but we'd patented it, so that anyone who wanted to use it would have to pay the Jeffersonian (and technically, Jack and I) a licensing fee. We wouldn't necessarily seek to renew it once the initial period lapsed, but the lab deserved to be compensated for the salaried time we'd spent on the research, and the initial materials we'd wasted trying to come up with a suitable final product. Neither Jack nor I needed the licensing fees; the fact that we were the inventors and owners was enough, from an academic and professional standpoint, to maintain our reputations, but the licensing fees would draw down the amount of money the lab needed from donors, and research toward that end, or at least the publication of peer-reviewed research, was considered part of our jobs.

"Well, then, a little show and tell might be fun," I replied, with a smile. "Here… want to see something funny?" I said, handing him the paper I'd just reviewed. "Take a look at that student's analysis of why sand is bad for remains."

He read it, and snorted. "Oh, that's bad. Are you going to fail him?"

"I haven't decided yet. I'm debating whether or not to just photocopy the page of the reading that clearly applies, and tack it to the front with a big D- and a 'this is your last warning to do all the reading' written on top."

He laughed out loud. "You're getting soft, Temperance, a year ago, you'd have made him cry in front of the class."

"Well, terror's a less effective deterrent when it becomes predictable," I murmured. "I'm trying to mix it up a little, catch them off guard."

We chatted some more, and then it was quarter to twelve, and Sidney popped in, with three large bags of food to lay out on my coffee table, Cam and Angela following behind him.

"Thanks, Sid," I said, taking my Reuben with extra sauerkraut and Russian dressing from him, along with an apple milkshake and a container of manchego cheese and membrillo paste. He really has an amazing ability to discern what I want, when I don't know what I want, but of course, a Reuben was it, my general distaste for meat notwithstanding. "Anytime, T.B.," he said, smiling, handing around the rest of the containers to their owners, and heading out with a smile. "Gotta go, Jeannie's holding down the fort and those vacuums from the Hoover usually break for lunch twenty minutes from now."

Vaccums from the Hoover. Hey, I think I got that one.

- - - -

"How are you doing, sweetie?" Ange asked, as I sat back and concentrated on muscles of the abdomen and back during the twenty-minute burn, two hours in.

"Okay," I gritted out, and she squeezed my hand as I waited it out.

When it was over, we talked some about her new wedding plans, how this time it would be a tiny affair, perhaps even smaller than ours, and not the two hundred people they'd invited the last time. "We're thinking Valentine's Day," she said with a smile, "just in time to go someplace warm for a honeymoon."

"Sounds nice," I replied, my eyes closed. "Do you know where you want to hold it this time? There's a new gallery opening a few blocks from my old place, with beautiful light all around. It's small, but spacious, and you'd have plenty of room to mingle if you wanted it just for the reception."

She was interested, so I gave her the name, and then we talked about some other ideas, and then it was time to go home, and again, at least, I hadn't fallen asleep at all, much less so deeply that I wouldn't wake up all the way home. I don't like the weakness, I don't like the dizziness, but I like the sleeping part of it least of all. It's not even the tiredness—it's the falling asleep when I'm not even conscious of doing so. I don't like the loss of control over consciousness. If I can decide to lie down? Fine. I do not like feeling like Rip Van Winkle, waking to find that more things have changed while I've been sleeping, so that I'm always playing catch up.

Celia brought us both tomato juice along with my crackers and pudding, and laughed as Angela complained, as she did every time, "Celia, it's five thirty, where's my vodka? Just because you think bloody marys are for breakfast doesn't mean you should deprive me of my vital after-work cocktail."

- - - -

My father was sick still on Wednesday, so I made my way over to Jack's station, regretting all over the burden I'd become. "Jack, could I ask you a favor, please?"

He looked up from his microscope with a smile and a "Sure, Double-B."

"Would you give me a ride over today? My father's still sick, and… Booth and Sully are over at the Navy Yard, and …"

He smiled and winked at me. "You mean I get you all to myself for three or four hours? Sign me up!"

- - - -

We went over what Jack was calling the "King and Queen of the Lab Show and Tell," while we waited for my IVs to finish, then worked some more on some emails each of us had. I'd been putting one off, in particular, to the new facilities manager at the convention hall; my old contact was out on maternity leave.

_From: "T. Booth-Brennan"_

_To: ; ; _

_Re:Meeting/Keynote/Break Room amenities  
_

_Ms. Anderson—_

_This email will confirm the following: _

_Dr. J. Hodgins and I will need one screen, one overhead projector, two laptops, a stool and 3 exam tables plus electrical connections sufficient for a portable x-ray machine for Friday's presentation. We will supply presentation data, exemplars, and materials on disk for all meeting attendees._

_For the keynote, we will require one screen, one overhead projector, two laptops, and at least one high-backed stool plus portable microphones for Agent Booth and myself. Please advise if laser pointers are allowed. Again, we will bring with us all presentation data and exemplars._

_Is there a small break room in the facility that might be made available to me during the day for the going conference rate for the duration of the conference, in lieu of securing a room in the hotel across the street?_

_Regards, _

_Temperance Booth-Brennan_

_From: "Megan Anderson"_

_To:"T. Booth-Brennan"_

_Re:Re: Meeting/Keynote/Break Room Amenities_

_Dr. Booth-Brennan:_

_We have several small rooms on the main floor, near the atrium, with a kitchenette, bath, and small bedroom suite that serve as overflow in the event our presenters are shut out of the local hotels. I will be glad to make it available, and will leave the key card and a floor map with your credentials for Friday morning. Please let me know if I can be of further assistance. You may not recall, but you and your recovered my nephews Matthew and Ryan Kent, after they were kidnapped. It has meant more than you know to our family._

_Best Wishes,_

_Megan_

A shiver passed through me as I read the message, then passed it on.

_From: "T. Booth-Brennan"_

_To: "Seeley"_

_Re: FWD: Re: Meeting/Keynote/Break Room Amenities_

_Seeley—looks like my need for someplace to rest during the conference has already been anticipated. See the below._

_LOML._

_Attachment: Msg.  
_

_- - - -_

Thursday morning, Natalia came by my office with the suit I'd asked her to take in for the keynote, and the dress she'd made for me for the cocktail party and dinner afterward.

"Bren, is that a … Balenciaga?" breathed Ange, as she sat while I tried on the altered suit.

Natalia smiled. "It is, such a joy to see one, much less be allowed to take it apart and be trusted to work on it," she replied. "Where did you get it?"

"A vintage store in Manhattan, near my publisher's office." I'd hesitated about cutting down the suit, it had been so expensive, and if I cut it down now, I might not be able to wear it later—it would be too small, and the construction was so demanding that merely tucking in the extra fabric wasn't an option. But it was beautiful, and hung nicely still despite the weight I had lost, and the fabric wasn't too scratchy, and the red was warm and bright and would keep the audience's attention even from the back of the hall, and, well, I wanted to wear it. Meg and Dave deserved to have us dress up for them. Even if I only wore it the once, if it helped people pay attention and learn something about how to help other Andys, well, that was fine.

"Oh, Bren," she breathed out, when I tried on the dress for the cocktail party. "That's just gorgeous." It was. Natalia had suggested a column-style dress, with an empire bodice and soft, wide pleats falling straight from the bodice to the just above ankle-length hem, and tight, three-quarter sleeves. I hadn't been sure about the color she'd suggested, initially, but when she'd brought me the several different swatches of the colors I'd suggested along with the one she wanted, I saw she was right, and the matte satin she'd chosen caught and held the light beautifully. Which was good, because as this point, I could use all the help I could get—more color in the dress for all the less color in me.

"Thanks Angela, and thanks again, Natalia. Is Vincenzo all set with a tie for his suit and the other things for Seeley?" She laughed and smiled.

"He is, and I'm so glad you introduced me to him… he had a number of inquiries about dressmakers from some of his customers' wives, and I've got almost more work than I can handle right now. He's a pleasure to work with."

"As are you."

Angela helped me change back after Natalia left, and hung my things on the door. "You going up to the platform?" she asked, as I put on my lab coat.

"Mmm-hmm. Anne has three more limbos for me to look over. You want to be my guide dog today?"

"Woof, baby, woof."

"There's a good Yente. Don't drop me, and I'll give you a Milk-Bone later."

"Bren, you're too good to me."

"No, Ange, quite the reverse."

- - - - -

You were sitting up on the platform, your back to me, and were squinting at something with Anne and Clark when I came in. It'd been a long morning of questioning legitimately clueless seamen and petty officers and contractors, and this case was getting nowhere, fast. I was just as glad this useless week was over, and glad, too, that it had been a good week for you, if not for the case. You were less tired and eating more—those steroids kicked in fast, and you looked a lot better, though you hadn't gained back any weight yet. I hadn't yet mounted the stairs at the platform when you said, "Ten more minutes, Seeley, if you want to wait in my office, feel free."

The other two looked up, startled—they hadn't even heard me, and I wasn't sure how you had, either. "Stealing my Spidey-Sense there, Bones?" I replied, swiping my card and mounting the steps.

"I don't know what that means, but no," you replied, "I merely asked Cam to put in some overhead mirrors so I wouldn't have to turn around and get dizzy." You pointed, and hey, sure as hell, there were two or three new overheads showing the lab door and the different platform approaches mounted to poles on the rails. Between all the gee-gaws and other technical crap attached to the poles, I hadn't noticed them.

"Nice going, Bones." I came over and put my hand on your back as you leaned back into me and continued to narrate something about malnutrition and osteophytes to Anne and Clark, then had Clark pull over a femur so you could point out something about growth plates and irregular wear at the hip joint. Lesson over, you made some notes on the Limbo chart, then handed it back to Anne to finish writing up.

"Thanks, Dr. Brennan, Dr. Edison," she smiled, as Clark nodded and you slid off your stool. You discarded your gloves and your mask, then suffered me giving you a lift down the stairs, swatting me only twice around the head with a "goddamnit, put me down, Booth." I know you're feeling better when you cuss me out.

- - - - - - -

"Where do you want to have lunch?"

"Antoinetta's. We have to stop at Vincenzo's to pick up more ludicrously expensive and garish accessories for you for this weekend."

"Do they have blinking lights and sequins this time?"

You threw your head back and laughed. "Only if you're good."

- - - - - -

"Wow, Bones, a burnt orange and gold foulard bow tie? That's loud, even for me. The boxers are nice and soft, though." Actually, I'm just kidding. That's really nice.

"Oh, Mr. Booth, you cannot be serious! Please, tell me, at least, that the red, pink, and yellow paisley tie is sufficient to your tastes."

"I'm just kidding, Vincenzo. Bones knows what I like. They're really nice. The cotton boxers, too." He twinkled and wrapped up the socks, too.

"Vincenzo, tell me, please, how do you manage to come up with the cashmere socks, too? I can see a manufacturer making a print in silk and in cotton, but the socks? Someone has to knit them."

"Oh, your lovely wife knows a cashmere goatherd in Outer Mongolia whose wife is most gifted knitter. They have a satellite dish and a motorcycle, so I email them a picture of the print, and he runs the socks into town to FedEx them to me. It's a four day turnaround, quite remarkable, really. Several other customers have admired your socks as they've come in and Dube and his wife are becoming quite busy."

Of _course_ you know a guy and his wife in a yurt in Mongolia with cashmere goats—how could you possibly not? You're a one woman U.N.D.P., Bones. One of these days, the aliens are going to land, and it's going to be all "Take me to your Temperance" as soon as they step off their little spaceship. You'll probably take them to O'Reilly's so you guys can teach us raunchy Martian drinking songs.

- - - - -

"Good morning, family," I heard from behind us, as you were giving me an even newer and scarier EDG. I turned to see Jack and Angela arriving, trailed by Clark, all balancing coffee and other crappy conference breakfast food. The morning had not started well, and I was unable to dig myself out of the hole I'd gotten into when I got grumpy about your green skirt suit and heels being too cold, and the heels being too high for walking someplace unfamiliar. You'd glared at me before growling, "I am not wearing a cashmere nightgown and clogs to a professional conference. It's all elevators, and level floors, and there are no stairs anywhere in the areas where I will be going." And then you'd EDG'd me so badly I kept my mouth shut all the way in. Of course, I'd immediately put my foot in it again when I asked you how you were planning on getting around between conference sessions without letting me know which ones you were going to.

You smacked me as you turned and said, "Good morning to you, and have you met my husband, Special Agent Obstinate? I was trying to get a word in edgewise to tell him about the weekend's sherpa rotation when you arrived. Would one of you care to do the honors?"

Clark quirked an eyebrow, then handed me a typed-up piece of paper. "Here. This is yours. I have T. for session 1, malleolar remodeling."

Jack jumped in and said, "The lovely Temperance and I will be wowing the materials geeks with out polymers, and then she has deigned to allow me to accompany her to lunch."

Angela smiled, then poked me—"Burn victim identification," then pointed to the last item on the list, "Ballistics techniques advances, with Dr. Sweets." I looked over the rest of the schedule, and indeed, you did have everything planned. Of course. You pulled me down for a kiss, then said, "Go pester the Colonel over there, do some productive schmoozing, okay?"

I was glad I heard Angela snicker right before you slapped my ass while I was turning away from you. It would not have been cool to yelp like a little girl in front of a guy I'm about to hit up for congressional votes. I turned to give you the EDG, but you just smirked, and Clark laughed. "Dropout, you've got to work on the eyebrow."

Now you're teaching him to be a punk, too?

- - - - -

"Bren, who is Booth talking to over there?"

"That's the Colonel who's in charge of the Army JAG corps, and the other man is the head of the Pentagon's internal investigations department."

"I thought he didn't want anything more to do with the military."

"Well, there's a project we're both interested in, and it makes more sense for him to talk to them than for me."

"Sounds mysterious."

"Well, it's just in its infancy. I don't want to jinx it. I'll tell you more when things are a little more firmed up." Jack shot me a look, but said nothing. He'd been talking to Zack, too.

I was so proud when the Senator wrote what must be his direct phone number on the back of his card, and gave it to you. You're a natural.

- - - -

I was walking to the next session after lunch and got stuck behind a clump of squints who were talking about the session you and Jack gave. They were going on about something you'd done during the silly putty part of the talk, and how brilliant it all was, especially you.

"It's such a loss for the scientific community." Bones, did you know you were already dead? Because you looked like you were breathing at lunch.

"I'd heard she only has six more weeks." I'd like to know who started that rumor, and his address. Although I really just need the name—I can find the rest out myself.

"She's still beautiful of course, but so fragile-looking…" Well, that one was true.

"That lunk cop of a husband of hers was practically growling at Dr. Stires at lunch today. I don't know what his problem was. Dr. Stires is a former professor of hers."

Okay, that one wasn't true, either. I didn't growl, I snarled. It's totally different. But what else was I supposed to do when that asshole threw his arm around your shoulders from behind you, trying to be cute and surprise you, and knocked your bruised hip into the table while Jack was filling your plate? You'd turned chalk white from the pain, and I was standing off to the side, fortunately close enough to catch you around the waist, but that prick didn't even notice what he'd done until I leaned in and snarled (quietly, too, I might add) in his face, "What's the matter, Stires? Tackling women from behind the only way you can meet the ladies these days? Didn't your mother teach you better manners than that?"

The supercilious bastard ignored me and smirked at you. "Tempe, you still have your watchdog?"

"Watchdog and husband, Dr. Stires," you said, emphasizing the formal title in your sweetest Evil Death Voice, and patting my arm as you said it. The look on his face when I leant in closer, bared my teeth, and said, "Grrr?" Priceless. I guess he lost interest in lunch, because he sure booked it out of there fast.

- - - -

I was sharing an apple with Angela in the lounge off on the side of the ladies' room when two voices came in from out in the hallway.

"I heard he got that corrupt agent with three shots in less than five seconds," one said, and the other responded.

"He's so amazingly hot, and did you hear that question he asked about warrantless seizures in the last session? He's an incredibly good cop."

"Tell me about it, he's smoldering—I just don't get why he married that squint. Her family's all criminals, and blood will tell."

"Well, she's rich from those books, and wouldn't you marry someone if you knew you'd inherit all of that money, and soon? Who'd blame him?"

"Well, perhaps he'll need comforting when the scarecrow is gone."

The great thing about adrenaline in small doses is that I wasn't dizzy at all when I flipped them both to the floor, and Angela had fun digging her heel into one of their chests. "Ladies, add this to your gossip mill, while you're at it. I may be a scarecrow, but I can still kick both your asses." And then I removed my foot from the throat of the one I think called my family criminals, and smiled at the rest of the women who'd gathered around to watch, before I took Angela's arm and we left.

- - - -

I was standing with Lance and Angela at the evening's cocktail party (although all-out boozefest, worse than our wedding, is a better way to describe it), my hand on Angela's arm, when your arms came around my waist and you breathed in my ear. "Principal Cullen told me you two were beating up cheerleaders in the bathroom again, Temperance. Am I going to have to give you detention?"

I turned my head to look up at you and lick my lips before I responded. "Detention? Is that what they're calling it now?"

The rest of the team wandered over then, Jack snaking his arm around Angela's waist, as he murmured, "I hear you beat up a girl in the bathroom, want to go make out under the bleachers?"

"Better yet," I said, looking around. "Let's go to O'Reilly's and have a drink or two."

"Done and done," replied Sully, nuzzling Cam's neck as she swatted him. "Have you two got your blue ribbons, please?"

- - - -

As a matter of fact, Cam and I did have our blue ribbons. Anne, and Amelia, and Angela too. I thought Lance would faint when Anne looped it through his belt and tied it there, but he recovered quite nicely, and said something to her during the last verse of "Seven Drunken Nights" that made her blush. Our little boy is growing up, Booth.

I was also glad to see that Scotch and Snickerdoodles is now a regular part of the menu.

- - - - -

"Bones, sweetheart, not that I'm complaining," you gasped, as I slid down your side and gripped the base of you as I took your length into my mouth, "but aren't you tired?"

"Not at all," I said, before taking you into my mouth again and running my tongue along the underside of your shaft. "And besides, I need to give my watchdog a bone for being such a good boy today," I continued, swirling my tongue over the tip of you before sucking you harder.

I think "Woof" was the appropriate response, although "Oh my God, Bones," works for me, too.


	59. Chapter 59

"This is a sweet suite," I said, taking in the several joined room the events manager had set aside for you. There was a little living room/kitchenette area, with a bathroom right off it, and a small bedroom at the back with its own bathroom, to boot. Convenient, too, since it meant we'd have someplace to change between the speech and the cocktail reception and dinner.

"It is nice," you replied, hanging up our things in the small closet and trying the edge of the bed. "I think I'm going to skip the second afternoon session and hang out here for a bit, maybe take a nap. We'll be up there for an hour, and then the reception's another hour, and then dinner—it will be midnight before we get home."

"Just try not to trash it between lunch and when it's time to go home, Bones, you party animal, you. You bring the squints and some booze back here, and it'll look like the tail end of a Sex Pistols concert."

"If you mean that I might bring the team back here with the three bottles of scotch I've got in my bag, and proceed to get them all stinking drunk so we can heckle the suits at the dinner, then alright, I suppose you might be right to suggest I would behave in a manner befitting a classic punk band."

Yeah, Bones, you're a punk. Whatever happened to "I don't know what that means?"

- - - -

"Bones, sweetheart, hey…" You were rubbing my back as I woke.

"Hello, husband," I smiled, and oh, there it was, a full goofy grin on your face.

"Hello, sleepy wife. Are you going to get up and help me not lose my shit in front of practically all of our nations' finest, or do you really want me to vomit in front of that many people?"

I pretended to think, drawing it out until your jaw twitched. "I guess."

"You guess!" you cried, then jumped on top of me and started nuzzling my neck until I laughed at how much it tickled.

"Okay, fine," I wheezed, as you started biting my neck.

"Not good enough," you rasped in my ear, taking my earlobe between your teeth. "You have to promise to help, and if I pass out in front of all of those people, you have to tell them you fed me half a dozen bacon muffins for breakfast, and that it's a coronary, not stage fright."

"Half a dozen bacon muffins, check," I replied, and you let go and gave me a '_Bones, you're the best_,' kiss, which involves lots and lots of tongue, and that thing with your hands on my breasts, which I'm really quite fond of. I was giving you the "_bacon muffins it is_," kiss when we were interrupted.

"Eeew, Jack, gross. Mom and Dad are going at it again." You didn't move from where you were straddling me on the bed, just turned your head to stick your tongue out, then turned around and licked the side of my neck.

"Aggh! Booth!"

Angela just snickered, then said, "Bren, where's my scotch?"

- - - -

We got there twenty minutes before the room was supposed to fill. I'd changed into my red suit, after a certain amount of pawing interference by you, and you'd changed from the one you'd been wearing all day into a new dark tan one with a soft yellow shirt and the new red, pink, and yellow tie and matching socks Vincenzo had made you. You'd grumbled about changing again, but agreed that the suit you were wearing was a little rumply. "Besides, Booth," I said, appealing to your pretty-boy vanity, "they'll be filming, and you want to look your most virile and masterful, don't you?"

You'd just snorted, and said, "What, you don't think that I'm gorgeous, too?"

We arrived in plenty of time for you to get me up the four stairs to the stage, and then we checked all the equipment and set up the exemplars for the mulch and bone separation experiment. We'd managed to bring a magnifier to attach to the projector, too, so everyone could see how the bone fragments floated out, and showed us where Dave Shepherd was.

They tested the lights about ten minutes before the speech was set to begin, and the conference chair came up to talk with you, which was good, because it would distract you from the fact that I could see, despite the lights, that every chair in the hall was taken, and that there seemed to be people lining the walls on the sides and the back. Jack trotted up the stage to give one last test to the remotes and pointers, so we could advance the slides and keep the presentation moving, and at five minutes to, I took my seat on one of the several stools they'd supplied, so I could sit while I spoke. The sound man settled our cordless mics on us, and then it was time. You were jiggling your knee as the chair introduced us, and then handed over the floor. We'd decided that I would start, since then you could jump in with the initial stage fright averted.

Pushing the remote to show the overview picture of the crime scene, I began. "In April this year, the FBI received a call from the sheriff's office with jurisdiction over Huntsville, West Virginia, that a car had been found, burnt, on the side of the road, the victim unrecognizable because of the fire. Agent Booth and I responded to the scene, and my initial investigation caused me to conclude…" I went on to discuss the markers that allowed me conclude that the victim was female, and the reasons why I sent back certain portions of the vehicle along with Meg's remains, and then it was your turn.

You took the floor and described how your routine search of the vehicle led to the discovery of the diaper bag in the trunk, and how you first heard Andy, and the chain of custody issues involved in his ingesting the key.

I then discussed the connection between the finding of the Phenobarbital traces in Andy's diaper and the findings of Meg's bowed legs eventually led to a determination of exactly when Meg was killed, in light of the further evidence we'd found during the search of her trailer. "The medical information regarding the several conditions suspected and eventually diagnosed in this case are described, with links to appropriate medical references, in chapter 3 of the DVDs supplied with your conference packets, along with scans of both Meg and Andy Taylor's xrays, as an example of the different ways in which Vitamin-D resistant rickets manifests in the male as compared with the female. The differentiation in appearance can be a stumbling block to early diagnosis, therefore requiring blood testing such as was recommended by Dr. Saroyan here."

You then described the next series of twists the case took. "Using standard x-ray technology and the expertise of our forensic artist and computing expert, Ms. Angela Montenegro, we were able to determine that the key ingested by the infant was a safety deposit box key, and Ms. Montenegro researched the keys using the databases referenced on the DVDs made available in your conference packets in order to narrow the banks at which keys of that manufacture were used."

You brought up the photographs of the contents of the box and the weapon we discovered, before and after we recovered the serial numbers. "Upon arrival at the bank, we determined that the key fit the box, and upon opening it, discovered an unregistered firearm, although the serial numbers on the weapon were filed off. Dr. Brennan, however, advised that the numbers could be recovered by swabbing the filed area with a weak solution of muriatic acid, a common ingredient at swimming pools, and available at standard pool supply stores. The technique is described in chapter 3 of the DVDs. We were thereafter able to trace the weapon to the last owner, who advised that he had pawned it."

You shot me a look and I continued, bringing up the results of Zach and Cam's bone and tissue analyses. "Forensic analysis of fragments and tissue in the weapon by Doctors Addy and Saroyan led to the determination that a male had fired the weapon, and that the bone fragments were from a separate, unrelated male, suspected to be the missing accountant, Dave Shepherd, who disappeared not long before Meg Taylor."

You then went on to detail how we came by the rest of Dave Shepherd's belongings, including bloodied clothing, that allowed Cam to match the blood with the bone fragments, supporting a conclusion that Meg Taylor was a witness, either at or after the fact of the murder, who most likely had been killed. Pausing, you waited until the audience stopped looking at the slides on the screen, then began again.

"We still had a problem, though. We couldn't figure out why Dave Shepherd had been killed, or where his body was. Initial inquiries at the plant were not fruitful; while Mr. Shepherd was not well-liked, Ms. Taylor seemed to be, and the information provided by plant employees and the plant manager seemed plausible, not a motive for murder. However, the data recovered by Ms. Montenegro from a computer memory device in Mr. Shepherd's bags allowed us to finally determine the motive for Mr. Shepherd's murder. Using the methods described for recovering the data set forth in chapter 7 of the DVD, Ms. Montenegro was able to determine that Mr. Shepherd had discovered a second set of records were being kept at the plant, and that someone was embezzling funds from the already cash-strapped facility."

You looked at me, then, and I nodded, so you went over to the table and started dumping shredded rubber and animal bone I had ground into containers as I continued with the explanation.

"The problem was, we had a missing body, a connection between two murders, and no identified murderer or means of disposal of Mr. Shepherd's body. While we were at the plant, however, we were able to observe the operation of the shredder used to reduce the tire rubber to the point at which it could be melted down for recycling. The shredder was a reinforced steel mechanism with a large enough shute to accommodate a human body, and upon further inquiry of the employees, including one not present during the initial visit, it was determined that Mr. Shepherd was, in fact, last seen at the plant two days before Ms. Taylor's murder. I inquired into the shipping schedule of the shredded rubber, and learned that the rubber processed the week of Mr. Shepherd's disappearance was still present at the plant. Agent Booth will be placing a sample handful of what the rubber material present on each of the seventeen bags potentially containing Mr. Shepherd looked like on a tray, and will be holding it under the magnifier."

You did so, and there were several groans from the audience as they saw the undifferentiated product. "That's impossible!" someone shouted from the audience. You laughed, and said, "Here's the forensic anthropology magic show, ladies and gentlemen. Watch, and wonder. I was gobsmacked when Dr. Brennan pulled this little trick."

I nodded, and you poured in water into one rubber-only container, and one rubber and bone mixture, then screwed the caps onto the container and shook them like cocktail shakers, eliciting laughs from the audience as I commented, "Special Agent Standup Comic here will now place the containers under the magnifiers so that you can observe the manner in which we determined where Mr. Shepherd was." You smirked and did so, then stood to the side as I watched the overhead, until the bone fragments begin to precipitate out of the rubber mixture. A wave of "ooooohhhhsss" started to wash over the audience as I circled the falling bone fragments with the laser pointer.

"Bone sinks in water. Rubber does not. Any material with a differing specific gravity than bone will separate out at a different rate, so that this method may also be used for any other bone/foreign material emulsion."

When the audience was done oohing, you finished up with the discussion of the apprehension of the plant manager, the elicitation of his confession, and the remanding of Andy to his guardians based upon the letter from Meg to Carol and Jimmy Grant, and the legal aspects of transferring his care from me to Social Services to Carol and Jimmy.

"Doctor and Special Agent Booth-Brennan will now take twenty minutes of questions before we break for a bit, then resume the evening's events for the farewell cocktail party and the closing dinner," the moderator said. "Microphones are placed throughout the auditorium, and those with questions may line up to be heard until time is up. Our presenters have generously made available their email addresses in the event that you are not able to have your question answered within the time period allotted."

There was a shift, and a murmur moved through the crowd as you came over to sit down on the stool next to me. "You're a ham," I whispered, covering my microphone.

You laughed. "Sorry, Bones, I've got the acting bug, now. What do you say we move to New York so I can try my hand at musical theater?"

"Booth, have you heard yourself sing in the shower? It would be the quickest closing of a show, ever. Better stick to catching the bad guys, and saving the singing as a torture device."

- - - -

Okay, so the audience didn't get why I burst out laughing at you, but they had some interesting questions, including some good ones about how to cure the confession I'd eliciting while slamming that plant manager up against the fence, and lots and lots and lots of technical questions about all the squint stuff the team did. As you answered those questions, you called on each part of the team to stand and wave so that people could ask them questions, afterward, then at one point, someone asked about the bone fragments Zack had identified. You answered, and when the person asked to be directed to Dr. Addy for further questions, you said quietly, "Dr. Addy is no longer at the Jeffersonian, so all further inquiries on this point can be directed to me." My poor Bones. You'd managed to keep that part out of the press, mostly, so that Gormogon's apprentice was generally reported to be a low-level unnamed tech at the lab. There were a few more questions about the search of Meg's trailer, and the databases and forensic accountancy work Angela had used and performed, and then there was one more question.

I couldn't see who it was, because they were at the back of the room and the lights were too bright, but if I ever find out who it was, I'll kill them. "So, Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth, were the two of you romantically involved at the time of this case?"

You stilled, and I couldn't help it, I put my hand to my gun, but the audience stilled too, and then turned as one and began to hiss and boo. You squinted into the dim, your vision's just better than mine for that kind of thing, and you said, laughingly, "Well, I'll answer your personal question with some personal information. Judging by your overall posture, your slight build, slumped shoulders, overdeveloped right shoulder, and inward hunch at the lower back and hips, you're a right-handed male, aged 35 to 40, with a small penis, a bad masturbation habit, and an undeveloped set of social skills that make you think it's appropriate to speculate on others' personal lives." And then, Bones, you squinted again, and said, with an evil smirk, "Actually, a very small penis."

The crowd ate it up, and roared with laughter as a shadow, I swear it was Sully, detached itself from the back wall and strong-armed the guy from the microphone. When they stilled, you looked around, smiled, and said, "And that ends our address for tonight. Thank you all, and we'll be available during the cocktail hour for further professional questions."

There was a pause, then a wave of applause, and then a wash of chairs shifting and people standing. Bones, we got a standing O. So, so, cool.

- - - - -

"Wife, that was so cool." Oh, look, you're trying to hide that silly smile, but it's not working.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. You're a natural, really. They were rapt with attention."

Rapt with attention, hmm? They're not the only one. That suit looks gorgeous on you.

"Booth!"

"What, Bones, the cocktail party's not for another forty-five minutes!"

"The rest of the team is coming over to change! They'll be here any minute!"

I tossed you onto the bed and threw my jacket over the chair, then ducked out to make sure the door to the suite was open, that the scotch was out, and that the bathroom was clean. Then I scrawled a "_Do Not Disturb or I'll Shoot You, Love, Booth_" sign, and tacked it to the bedroom door, shutting it behind me. "All taken care of, Bones," I said, jumping on to the bed and tickling you until you were too weak with laughter to swat me as I peeled off your clothes.

"Bones, what did I say about stockings? Aren't you just a glutton for punishment?"

"Aaaahhh!! Oh, my God! Seeley! Put that tie away, it's brand new! Aaaahhhh!!"

- - - -

"Want some help with that, baby?" God, I love watching you stand in front of the mirror and put on your makeup. Not that you need it. But the whole girly primping thing is just, well, hot, and any chance to watch you bend forward and nearly spill out of the front of your fire engine red silk bra (my God, those panties are skimpy, too)—well, really, Bones, you are trying to kill me, there is no other conclusion-- as you put on your lipstick? There are really no words to describe it, except, perhaps, unnnh. Yeah, unnnh just about does it.

- - - -

I'd just gotten the new dress in burnt orange satin over my head and zipped up the side in the bathroom when you came back into the bathroom (really, was it necessary to christen the sink counter, too? I mean, not that I'm complaining, but I'm glad I brought another bra and panty set in coral pink, just in case) in your tux and wolf-whistled. The things I put up with from you that I would kill other men for.

"The gang's all done using the bathroom, outside" you said, then continued. "They finished the third bottle of scotch and they just got the bartender to bring them some more."

"Well, at least it's not on our bar tab this time," I replied, as I leant forward to adjust the bodice of my dress and fix my lipstick one last time.

"Close your eyes, Temperance," you said, so I obliged, waiting to see what "_squinty jewels_" you bought me this time. Something metallic and heavy and cool settled around my neck, resting an inch above the bodice, as you kissed the back of my neck and threaded earring wires through my earlobes, the weight of some dangling earrings catching. "You can look now," you murmured, placing wet kisses down the line of my shoulder to the edge of my neckline as I opened my eyes.

Oh, Booth.

"An aboriginal opal and fire opal necklace, the stones rough cut and polished, with woven gold wire in a traditional basket-weaving pattern dating back at least three hundred years," you murmured, nipping your way down my cervical vertebrae as you lifted my hair from my neck. You do know how to make a forensic anthropologist melt.

- - - -

There was a chorus of wolf whistles and cat calls from the Squint Squad and Bureau Brigade (do Sully and Sweets and Amelia count as a brigade?) when we emerged from the bedroom, and a few knowing smirks from the early arrivers, but we still had a few minutes before we'd be fashionably late for the cocktail party, so I went over to the table and poured the two of us a glass each of scotch, then poured another round for everyone else with the rest of one of the three more bottles they'd ordered.

I handed you your glass, and you smiled. "To Meg Taylor and Dave Shepherd," you said, then raised your glass, as the rest of our extended family raised theirs. "And to Andy," I said, as we all finished our glasses.

Jack poured another round, toasted "Phoenix from Ashes," and we headed out to the party, in force and with love. We have a lovely little family, Bones.

You looked so gorgeous and regal in that dress, and so sexy with your hair in soft waves that framed your face in the same way the way those soft pleats showed off your incredible curves. I don't care what you say about needing color. You glowed like you always do, your incredible luminescent skin against the sheen of the fabric and the opalescent and fire-orange iridescent stones of your newest squinty jewels. So glad Angela keeps me on the DL about all the stuff you order from Natalia. And I am definitely going to have to shoot the two or so dozen guys whose heads turned when we came in. Except Stires. He scooted to the other side of the room as soon as I caught his eye. Heh.

- - - - -

There were a fair number of questions from people who'd attended the keynote, and I was glad to finally meet the forensic anthropologist from Montreal whom I'd never managed quite to run into before, before we stopped to speak with the Colonel and some other people he brought over to introduce to you. The rest of the team was also quite busy speaking with people who wanted to ask them further questions, for which I was glad, since they deserved the recognition as much, if not more, than we did. Sam Cullen and Caroline Julian and the Director came over to say hello, and compliment us on the presentation, and Caroline said, "Cheries, you'll do an encore at the U.S. Attorney's meeting in March, now, won't you?" For someone with stage fright, you certainly accepted quickly.

- - - -

Somehow, they'd seated us with the Squad and Brigade up toward the front, and some of the other folks from the Hoover, including Sam, and Caroline, and the Director, were at the next table over. It was a good view of the room, though, and the stage and podium where the end of the conference gasbaggery would take place. There was lots of champagne, though you and your stone-cold-sober liver seemed unaffected, and dinner was a lot of fun, with everyone trading jibes over the food and waving down the cocktail waitresses for more drinks. Good thing you and I have good tolerances, Bones, I think we'll be ordering cabs for everyone else tonight.

When everyone was mostly done with their rubber chicken dinners, which I don't blame you for mostly picking at, this year's President stood up to announce the year's Distinguished Service Award recipient. It's always a secret—they make sure the recipient's coming, but they never, ever, tell them beforehand, and even the people who nominate the recipients tend not to know the final outcome, though sometimes they'll guess, since the Award committee will sometimes do phone interviews to narrow the field. The President took the stand, and made some general closing remarks about the Award, and past recipients, and all that blah blah blah, and then shifted to some remarks thanking Sam and the Director for the extra support they'd given this year's conference. The Hoover did a lot of the technical and scut work for the conference this year, the local field office wherever it's held usually does, and they always bring the local field deputy up to say something quick, so I wasn't surprised when he asked Sam Cullen to come up.

What I wasn't prepared for, however, was Sam, passing our table, leant between us, putting a hand on each of our shoulders, and said, "showtime, kids" right before ascending the stairs. Your eyes widened, and your hand crept into mine as Sam adjusted the microphone and began. After thanking the President and making some jokes about what a pain in the ass it is to be the host field office, he paused, and then looked right at us. Not me, us.

Then he started to speak. "The President has graciously offered to let me handle this next part. It is my deep pleasure, and honor, to be able to introduce to you this year's Distinguished Award Recipients." There was a buzz. They've only ever given a shared award once before, to a judge and a prosecutor who happened to be married. "Yes, I said recipients," he continued, then smiled and pulled the rug out from under us.

"A little over four years ago, I met with Daniel Goodman at the Jeffersonian Institute, seeking their forensic assistance. My tech lab was overwhelmed with other work, and important evidence was being missed for lack of staff and resources. Luckily, Dr. Temperance Brennan worked for them, and headed a team whose skills put my own excellent staff in my tech lab to shame.

From the beginning, Dr. Brennan always delivered results. The problem was, neither I nor my agents always knew what to do with them. Three agents in a row came to me, begging to be let out of cases with Dr. Brennan, and I had never seen three grown men so afraid of a lady squint. I couldn't imagine what the hell their problem was, until I met with the woman myself.

And then I realized why my agents were complaining—not because they were right, but because they were so incredibly wrong, and so clearly misunderstood what Dr. Brennan was trying to do. She was trying to get them to give her enough facts so she could help them wrap the case up, rather than be treated like a computer that churned out results-- but that wasn't the way they were used to dealing with experts, and they were incapable of changing the way they thought and interacted, either to use the evidence she'd given them, or to help her find even more. Here was someone so brilliant, so completely dedicated to finding the truth, that it rightfully made her furious when my agents wouldn't try to learn from her and work with her.

She terrified me, frankly. I was afraid we wouldn't be able to use her, and terrified that she would refuse to work with us, despite her ferocious passion for the victims she worked for. I was also terrified of dealing with her; her scorn for those who worked less hard than she was intimidating, and she rightfully dismissed those who were less serious than she about the work we so needed her help with. So, I assigned Seeley Booth, hoping I would be lucky.

It was a serendipitous move, one I can hardly take credit for, because I did it at least as much from desperation as a wish to make the thing work. I figured Booth could handle himself. He was such a deadly marksman that my range master just stopped keeping track of rankings after Booth had been at the Hoover for three months. He took risks that scared my Tac director bloodless, had the highest closure rate in each department he'd ever worked in, and was one of the best all-around young agents and hotshot SA's I'd had the pleasure and terror to work with. That he was as stubborn, and suffered fools only as gladly as Dr. Brennan, played no small part in my hope that pairing them together would work.

After their second successfully closed case, when she agreed not to press charges for kidnapping, and he expunged the arrest he made when she fired a weapon in self-defense, I decided it was a providential match, so long as neither one of them killed the other in the meantime. But I had no idea how much fortune would bring. A ninety-seven percent closure rate. A one hundred percent return on prosecutions. Unimpeachable confessions. The closure of cases so difficult that unless they handled it, I would have had to mobilize an entire team of agents to track down all the details. The work these two have done, so ably assisted by Drs. Hodgins, Saroyan, Edison and Addy, Ms. Montenegro, and more recently, Special Agent Timothy Sullivan, has created a new definition for the phrase 'textbook investigation.'

But these quantitative measures only go so far in explaining how their partnership merits the Distinguished Service Award. There are qualitative events that prove, beyond any statistics, what a partnership had been wrought for our victims. Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth have returned orphaned children to loving families. They have returned missing sons and daughters to grieving parents, to allow them to be put to rest with love and dignity. They have stopped multiple killers from preying on further innocents. And they have made dozens accountable for the senseless brutality that is the enemy of happiness. Their team has single-handedly advanced the state of forensic technology, generating more inventions, improvements, and innovative approaches in the pursuit of justice than in all the other labs in the country, combined.

Above and beyond the call of duty is a phrase that rings hollow. Seeley and Temperance have redefined sacrifice, vigilance, diligence, and patience in their work for the victims and families they've served. Nights, weekends, vacations, personal crises—neither faltered, neither wavered, in their commitment to justice.

I first truly began to understand how lucky my choice had been, after my daughter Amy fell terminally ill. With one look at her chart, Dr. Brennan could tell there was something wrong, beyond the already harsh injustice of a young life ending too soon. Without jurisdiction, authorization, or funding, Seeley and Temperance conducted their own investigation, eventually uncovering a multi-state operation in which diseased bone grafts were distributed to over fifty people. While it was too late for Amy, their discovery made it possible for almost all of the remaining victims to get treatment that allowed them to survive—all because Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth felt that something just wasn't right. Amy had one thing to say about it all. 'I'm just glad I could help.'

Since then, I've just stayed out of their way, and let them do what they do best—catch the bad guys, quicker, and faster, and better than anyone else. Each of them was exceptional, in their own merit, but together? It redefined the old adage that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

Imagine my shock this fall, then, when Dr. Brennan fell ill, and received a potentially devastating diagnosis. My best team—anyone's best team.

I knew Seeley was devoted to her, and she to him, an example of what a true partnership is; the number of rules each had broken when the other was threatened has given me more Review Board paperwork than I would wish on my worst enemy. I had no idea what would happen, but as always, they snapped into action, though in some ways we didn't expect might ever happen. I had the honor of attending their wedding a month ago, and can honestly say that there was never a more joyful union than theirs. When the Booth/Brennan team officially became Seeley and Temperance Booth-Brennan, it was a culmination of their years of hard work, their devotion to their victims, and the just desert of two passionate, painfully honest people.

Despite Temperance's illness, though, both have continued to work, and have continued, ably aided by the Jeffersonian team and some of the Bureau's own, to solve mysteries that would exceed any others' capacity.

Please join me, then, in bestowing the NCJA's Distinguished Service Award, in recognition of all the families that Seeley and Temperance will continue to grant peace, of all the victims whose names they will return, of all the children for whom they will find loving homes, and for each time they rid the world of another bit of ugliness and brutality.

Booth, Bones, we are, all of us, just glad we could help."

- - - -

I'd been sitting there, gripping your hand almost as hard as you were gripping mine, since the moment Sam stopped to clue us in on the way up to the podium, and was trading looks of disbelief with you as our family by choice grinned like maniacs at the fact that they'd known all along. I was too shocked to do more than just sit there and listen, and you were shaking your head, your hand and mine squeezing in shock and in reflex when Sam said serendipitous, and providential, and fortune, and luck.

Everyone stood around us, clapping, as Sam finished his speech, and we were still sitting there, when Cam leant over and said, "This is the part where you go up there and say thank you."

I managed to stand, and helped you from your chair, my hand at your back holding me up as much as you. When we reached the stage, you looked at the seven stairs with no railings, that led to the podium, and shook your head. "For Cleo, it's alright," you sighed, so I picked you up and set you back down at the top again. Sam came forward to give you a kiss and led you over to the podium while I followed. He clapped me on the back, once, and then stepped to the side as I stepped beside you, holding on to your back so my knees wouldn't give out, and pulled down the mic.

You gave me a "_you know what to say_," look, so I began.

"Thank you all, very much. We're both… astonished, and honored, and humbled. Bones and I have always had a different notion of family, and we both have always considered the families we choose, and the families that chance sends our way through our cases to be blessings, a chance to do some more good in the world. And even though we've both disagreed, and more, about how to handle our cases, it always works in the end, because we agree on one certain, always true thing. Our victims are our families, whether they're good people or bad in their everyday lives, because no one should go out of this world with violence and fear, or without a chance to make good any mistakes that they've made. If we don't look at each victim as our mother or father, our sibling, our son or our daughter, then how can we hope to figure out where their home is? Everyone deserves to go home, in the end. We would therefore ask you to remember our first daughter, Cleo Eller, and thank her, not us."

I looked at you, and you smiled such a beautiful smile, and leant forward, saying only, "Thank you, Cleo." Then you stepped back, and we walked off to the edge of the stage, and you let me carry you down again, murmuring "Love of my life," in my ear as I set you down again and we headed back to our family.

Love of my life, that's what you are.


	60. Chapter 60

The guys on the team were taking turns pounding the crap out of my back and swinging you around like you were a kid who wanted to play airplane when we got back to the table, which is sure one hell of a way to knock me out of the daze I'd been in ever since Sam whispered "Showtime, kids." I guess you were feeling the same as the ladies hugged and kissed us both, but I still couldn't really believe it by the time they'd done pawing us both all over. When we finally sat, and everyone who'd been standing and clapping while all the Booth-Brennan manhandling had been going on sat down too. The President got up and said congratulations again, and then moved on to the rest of the program, though there wasn't that much left. Sully waved over a bartender and whispered something to him, and he came back not long after with enough champagne flutes for everyone, and handed them around to everyone. The President had sat down by this point, and conversation was picking up at the tables again, as he and Cam looked at each other, then raised their glasses together, while Cam spoke.

"Congratulations, you two, you deserve it. But you're not done yet. This is just the universe's way of saying you have more work to do."

You shot me a startled look-- I'd said that to you after we'd heard about Brianna Swanson's grandfather on the news, almost three months ago-- but then you raised your glass and said, "Well, I am a workaholic. I can hardly pass up that challenge."

"Slainte," murmured Sully, as others repeated, or said "Salut," or "Skal" or "Gesondheid,"

It doesn't matter how they say it-- to your health, sweetheart.

- - - - - - - -

"Bones, tell me again why we're the ones shoving everyone into cabs and making sure they have enough cash to get home? We're the ones who should be drunk as skunks."

"I don't know what that means-- skunks do not consume alcohol, Booth. But, I don't get drunk, you rarely do, and besides... whether they call us Booth and Brennan or Mom and Dad or anything else, we're the center."

"That's right, we are."

- - - - - -

"Good morning Mrs. Distinguished," came the murmur in my ear, as I woke to a hand tracing the undersides of my breasts, then dipping to the hollow of my stomach.

"Mmm. Good morning, yourself, distinguished husband." You chuckled as I turned around to face you and looked at you seriously a moment before saying, "You don't look distinguished right now, though."

You narrowed your eyes at me, until I said, "You look sexy," at which point you burst into a goofy grin. It's true-- goofball grin? Very sexy.

"I'll show you sexy," you growled, then proceeded to do just that.

- - - - - -

I sat with Parker while you went up to take communion, and he managed not to fidget while we waited. He's better at sitting still than he used to be. I think school is starting to sink in-- he's getting better at observing when it's time to be quiet, and he's not yelling quite so much in lieu of normal conversational voice. Plus, he'd settled down with his fidgeting in church since I "stayed after" church with him a few weeks ago and let him show me all the different objects used in "the House." I suppose I'll have to read up on this First Communion thing, since he's starting to talk about it nonstop, and he'll be seven before it even happens. He keeps being excited about getting the apparently traditional white suit and "all the girls wear pretty white dresses." I have refrained from reminding him about what Thoreau had to say about enterprises requiring new clothes, but you should know that he had a pretty excited expression on his face when he started telling me about one of the girls sitting a few pews up.

- - - - -

Great. He's not going to be six for another week, yet.

- - - - - - - -

He's a Booth. When did _you_ start noticing girls?

- - - - - - -

Okay, point taken.

- - - - - -

Someone, probably Angela, must have anticipated that they were tearing out the mums in the gardens over the weekend and replacing them with the decorative kale they leave in all winter, because even though it didn't appear as though anyone else was in yet, there was a small bunch of daisies hanging in a paper cone from the doorknob of the outside door between the lab and the garden. The warm little out of nowhere breeze swirled up again, pulling the petals out of my hands with a warm puff that almost made my coat and the throw I was sitting on unnecessary.

- - - - - -

"Have a good class."

"Thanks. What are you up to this morning?"

"I'm having Sid bring in breakfast for everyone and we're going to go upstairs and put everything we've got on the Fratellis out on the table. I need to take a new look at everything, and there isn't space to do it down here."

"How are you going to get up there?"

"Jack."

"Are you sure? I mean, not that he's not strong enough, but you..."

"It's work. It's got to be done-- the change of location may give me a few new ideas. Now, can you call Lance and tell him to bring those contractor and employee lists as well as whatever other background data Rodgers has found so far, and have him bring it when he picks me up this afternoon?"

"I can do that. Are we supposed to get some of those manufacturer subpoena responses today?"

"Yes, this morning. I had an email from Caroline. The saw blades will be in today, and Clark and Jack were rubbing their hands in glee over the artificial bone and KY jelly experiment they're setting up."

"Ugh."

"I'm looking forward to it. I hope they start before I have to leave this afternoon, it'll be nice to see Jack acting like a mud scientist again."

"Mad scientist, sweetheart, mad."

"Booth-- I'm not angry about anything. What are you talking about?"

"I love you, Bones."

- - - - - - -

Everyone was upstairs-- I'd had Anne lay out the femurs of each victim, all the particulate data, the evidence from Kenton and Santana's lodgings, and the three exhibit boards you, Sully and I had already put together with the photographs, known properties, and other information for the Romanos, the Fratellis and the Cugginis. I'd also had Clark bring up the skulls of the last four Fratellis, the ones who were killed after Kenton was eliminated-- there was blunt force trauma to the skulls that had taken some time to reconstruct-- the victims had been struck in the head and apparently rendered unconscious before they were shot, point blank. Bullet reconstruction had yielded the bullet shape, the same for each wound, and therefore the same gun, but the weapon used was not in the registered weapon database, so we were again back at square one as to the owner's or shooter's identity.

"What do we think the blunt object was on these last four skulls? It seems to be narrow, round, with striations. Unfortunately, the PCB in the saltwater tank seems to have dissolved any particulates, and Jack's filtration and analysis of the sample water doesn't reveal anything out of the ordinary."

Everyone was standing and walking around the table, looking at and picking up various pieces of evidence as we working on the breakfast burritos and french toast sticks Sid had brought over, when Anne picked up one of the skulls and looked at the blunt force damage more closely.

"Do you mind if I apply some of the dental polymer to the damaged area, Dr. Brennan? There's something about the pattern that looks familiar."

"Please, feel free, it won't adhere." Intentionally-- we'd designed the polymer so that it would mold itself to the bone surface, but pull away without leaving any trace on the bone.

She ran downstairs to get a block of the material and came back up, then cut off a chunk and pulled it until she could lay it in a line across the fractured bone. She peeled it off, then, and a regular, cross-hatched pattern emerged, the fracture lines less obvious on the transfer. She curled the piece under itself so that it looked like a tube, and then said, with a look of excitement, "I think it's steel rebar for concrete reinforcement."

"Excellent," said Cam. "But how does that help us?"

Anne nodded. "I worked as a receptionist for a construction company during college, and had to order materials or match up invoices sometimes. There are several types of rebar, and each has a distinctive grid covering. So we know that whoever killed the victims had access to construction materials, and although I don't recall what kind of rebar this particular pattern is, there are only a dozen, max, so it will be easy enough to find out. "

"Anne, that's great. So we have a steel cutting saw used to dismember all the corpses, a suspect familiar with carpentry cutting techniques, and a further link to construction materials used in the murders. It would seem, then, that the Romanos have managed to continue in the concrete business or construction business, even though there is no indication that they have any ownership interest in any of the known mafia-controlled  
businesses-- that's very good news, because it may well give us enough, with whatever comes in on those steel cutting saw subpoenas, to get Booth and Sully a warrant for some of the area companies."

She smiled, then said, "I'd be glad to go start looking at rebar manufacturer websites to identify the correct pattern."

Cam and I looked at each other and I nodded, at which point Cam said, "Great, and when you identify it, go ahead and order it and have it express shipped to the lab." She and Cam then descended the stairs, and Jack and Clark spent some more time reviewing the materials data and mapping the swirl patterns on the bones for their experiment. At about ten thirty, the delivery man arrived with Jack's saw blades, and he and Clark galloped downstairs like two children with their first experiment ever. At the foot of the stairs, Jack called up, "Just give me a whistle, Double-B, when you're ready!" I peered over the sofa back and looked down, then gave him a wave as he waved back, then hustled off to his side lab with Clark.

Angela mounted the stairs not long afterward, and stood over the table, looking at everything. "Anything new besides Anne's rebar?" I shook my head. "Unfortunately, not yet. Dr. Sweets is going to bring me the latest background information on the persons with access to Bay 6, but Organized Crime isn't having much luck with their informants in order to determine the last days of the Fratellis."

Ange snorted. "The last days of the Fratellis. It sounds like a bad mafia movie."

"If it was, then we'd have solved this by now. I hate this, Ange." She nodded and sat down next to me on the couch, where I'd been working on my laptop, paging through the microscopy scans of the cut ends of the bones and standing every once in a while to take the three steps to the table to look over how everything had been rearranged.

"You'll get it, Bren, you always do."

"I feel like we'd have solved it by now if I wasn't working at diminished capacity. It's so frustrating. If I could be out there with him in the field at those interviews, and earlier, I just know we'd have found something earlier. And Organized is so protective of its contacts that everything has to go through them-- they won't let me or Sully or Booth meet in person with any of them. I'm sure if Booth could, he'd get one of his guts on something, and we could find that missing piece of information." I set the laptop aside and rubbed my eyes- I'd been staring at it for the last half hour.

"Well, who knows," she said. "Those new steroids seem to be doing you good-- you're eating more and not so tired. Maybe you can get out there more, soon."

I shook my head. "They are helpful, but even I wouldn't clear myself for offsite field interviews unless I put at least ten pounds more on. And I'm still too dizzy most of the time to be any help in a chase, or even stand for too long. I mean, Angela, I can't even turn around to back up my car with the requisite speed without getting dizzy, and even if I could, it's not like I could get out of the damned thing-- it's too low for getting out to do anything but give me a head rush. I'm just a liability, right now."

She took my hand. "Bren, sweetie, you're never a liability. You always ask the right questions to get things started in a new direction-- that rebar ID is the first thing we've had in over a week."

"I just feel like there's more. There's something here I'm not seeing, and I should, if I could just spend enough time looking for it. I just need to work harder at it." She tried to console me a bit more, and I let her talk, until we were interrupted by two males' voices cries downstairs of "Yeah, baby!" and the whine of a power saw.

"Sounds like the experiment worked," I said, with a snort. Ange smiled, and said, "This, I have to see," then trotted down the stairs.

I would have liked to see it, too.

- - - - - -

"Temperance, you're doing great. Your white count is steady, your iron is better, and you've put on three pounds."

I knew they were all significant markers, but it's hard to feel like you've accomplished anything when all you've done is taken your pills, slept, and eaten more food than is ever comfortable.

- - - - -

I was working on reviewing the documents Lance had brought with him when my email pinged on my laptop. Lance was working on his own computer, "doing charts," he said, so I pulled mine over to check.

"Caroline got the subpoena responses today. She's having them copied for Booth for first thing tomorrow," I murmured, then forwarded the message to Cam and to you, to suggest that Anne catalogue the responses given her familiarity with construction terminology.

"Excellent," he responded, then returned to his charts, his focus barely drawn by the conversation. You joke about him being neither cop nor squint, but really? He's a squint.

The next morning, Sully and I went to see Sam-- you were right, Organized was playing it too close to the vest, and since Kenton had come out of that unit, I figured they owed us.

"Sam," I said, as we sat across his desk from him, "You've got to let me and Tim put the squeeze on Freddy's unit. He's giving us nothing."

Sully nodded. "He takes forever to get back to us, never specifies what contact provided what useless information, and acts like we're out to screw him over."

"I just want to close this damned case."

Sam nodded. "Me, too. It's a total cluster. Look, let me talk to Freddy, and if he doesn't step it up for you guys in the next few days, I'll make him hand over the contact names. But it's political-- I don't give him a chance to cooperate, and he goes over my head about authority and witness protection and all that garbage, and it'll just slow stuff down."

I shot Sully a look and he nodded, so I stood. "Just tell Freddy his folks will be fine with us. I haven't gotten a contact killed in the whole time I've been with the Bureau. Unlike him."

Sam grimaced. "I am not telling him that, and neither are you. You're not Deputy Director yet, Seeley. Now get out, both of you, and let me squeeze Freddy."

Yet, Bones? What does that mean?

- - - - - - -

We spent the rest of the day back at the Yard, plowing through the last ten guys on our list. We'd initially split up the list to do them separately, knock them down faster, but both of were feeling like hamsters on a wheel with the same questions, over and over, so we decided to do the rest of them together. We'd taped all the interviews, but Navy was being nuts about security, and was insisting on reviewing the tapes before we gave them to the rest of the team, so this was the first time we actually got all the tapes to turn them over to the rest of the team. Maybe you squints would see something we hadn't, though I was sure in my gut that everyone we'd talked to so far knew nothing.

The next to last witness, Anthony Cousins, rubbed me the wrong way. He was old to still be a third class petty officer, but aside from something about me not liking him, there wasn't much I could do. His on-base security records seemed clear, and his military records were fine. He was simply an average sailor of not much ambition who'd managed not to mess up, and therefore hadn't been booted out. He wasn't surly, precisely, but he was suspicious, and not particularly forthcoming. However, there was nothing concrete, so we let him go and cleared the last one, then spoke with the security officer about when we could have the last of the films. He promised them to us by Thursday morning, so Sully and I headed off.

"I don't like that Cousins guy. My gut's telling me something, I don't know what yet, though."

"No, I agree with you. He smells... off."

I use my gut, Sully uses his nose. It works. At least if there's two of us, maybe we can get something going on it. I saw him off at his truck, with an invite from him for a team housewarming at their new place Friday night, and then got back in mine, and flipped on the phone.

"Rodgers-- it's Booth. Look-- that Anthony Cousins? Re-run his record, do a little more digging, will you?"

"Why, he give you a tummyache, Booth?" He's a wiseass, but he can call my gut instinct whatever he wants as long as he finds me something.

"A whole bottle of Tums' worth, man."

"Gotcha. I'm on it. When I get something, want me to copy the wife on it, too?" Heh. He called you my wife.

"Please."

When I got home, you and Angela were setting out plates for dinner-- you'd already texted me to say you felt up to cooking, and that Jack was coming over, too.

"What are we having, June," I asked, as I fondled you while Angela laughed and uncorked a bottle of wine.

You swatted me before kissing me hello, then said, "Beef stroganoff with noodles, and green beans, and that dark chocolate pudding with the Grand Marnier and crystallized orange peel for dessert."

"Bones! You didn't tell me we were having new pudding for supper! I would have left an hour ago!"

Angela laughed at me, then cracked on me. "Great. Explain to the grand jury why it took two more days to close the case. '_I would have done it sooner, but there was new pudding to try, and I'm just powerless in the face of Dr. Temperance Brennan's pudding._'"

"Well, I am, it's like kryptonite, Angela."

"I don't know what that means."

"Bones! Really?"

"Bren! Really?"

- - - - - - -

"Did you like the movie, Bren?" Ange smiled at you from the floor in front of the couch, where she and Jack had sprawled while we watched the movie-- Parker had asked if some of his friends could come for birthday cake and to watch the movie, and I needed to re-watch it to see if it was too scary. Fortunately, Jack and Ange were game, and you, of course, hadn't seen it.

"It was enjoyable, yes, and featured quite a remarkable cast of noted English actors, though of course the villian teacher was the best. I do rather like the young girl character, she's assertive and not afraid to speak up for herself."

Jack smirked. "Dude, she's leaving you for Snape."

I snorted, and said, "No way. Bones' appreciation for Alan Rickman extends across all movies. As long as he plays the bad guy, she likes him."

A light in your eyes, you responded. "It's true. His character's appearance in this movie was not physically appealing-- I merely appreciate the relish he brings to his acting. Really, the thing that was most interesting, given the ridiculous subplot about alchemy, was the intricate attention to detail paid to the sport. Quite fascinating, with a level of devotion akin to that of the English Premier Soccer League, with the memorization of statistics and idolization of individual players, along with an obsessive attention to highly complex plays, when the overall skill of the players is really what matters."

Great, Bones, just great. I've known you for four years, am probably the biggest sports nut I know, and you? Your first expression of interest in sports is Quidditch. You'll probably figure out a way to play it without wands and flying broomsticks, and turn it into the next ultimate frisbee.

- - - - - - -

"So, Billy, is my Dad still behaving?" Billy and I were sitting at the bar as my father ran back to the kitchen to pull our lunches off of the grill, before we went to treatment on Wednesday.

"Oh, Temperance, love, it's been wonderful. He's so fast, and so helpful. Colleen and Arthur are so very relieved that he's here on Fridays and Saturdays-- it gets so busy, but having him around is like three more sets of hands. And he's so handy-- we had a clog in one of the Murphy's keg lines two weeks ago, and he fixed it like nobody's business. I might have had to wait for the distributor to come out on Monday, otherwise."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. He's enjoying it very much, and I'm glad the two of you get along."

"Ah, he's a good man, your father. There were a few grumbles when he first started, but they know that if I'll have him, then they can either mind their manners, or find someplace else to drink."

"Never that."

"'Tis true. I am the Oracle of Alcohol," he grinned, "no one else knows what you like to drink quite like I do." I laughed-- he has such a way with words, Booth. He smiled some more, and said, "'_The Bold Robber's_' become quite a favorite to close out the night, you know. They wanted to hear it the last three weeks in a row, the nights you weren't in."

"Strange bedfellows, Billy," I said, smiling.

"They're sometimes the best, love," he said, then turned to call out to my father, who'd just emerged from the kitchen. "Maxwell, you mook, aren't those sandwiches done yet?"

My dad affected a meek countenance, and slid the plates across the bar to where we were sitting. "I'm so sorry, Mr. O'Reilly, they're right here." He shot me a wink, and then poured himself a soda and Billy and me a pint each of Murphy's. "Drink up, Pumpkin, liquid bread."

"Dad, don't you start."

"Now Temperance," cautioned Billy, "you drink your beer like a good girl. Now that I've got Maxwell tending bar, you owe me at least a jig and a reel the next time we've a _ceilidh_, so you need to build up your strength. I'm hard to keep up with, you know."

He has such a charming way of being a calorie cop.

- - - - - - - - -

Thursday morning we stopped early at the Yard before going to work, and you ran in to pick up the films from security. When we got in, it still wasn't eight, and my daisies were hanging on the garden door, as they had been every morning that week so far. Today, the random warm breeze pulled my hair from its ponytail.

- - - - -

"Okay, gang, what have we got?"

We were all upstairs, in what you were calling an '_all hands on deck_,' meeting mid-morning-- you'd even had Paul Rodgers come over from the Hoover, since he was handling so much of the desk work. We went over what we knew about the Romanos, the Cugginis, the Fratellis. We reviewed the financials, the information turned up by Internal Investigations on Kenton and Santana, and all the particulate data again. We discussed the differences in bullets used after Kenton's death, and the lack of information from the witnesses where Kenton had been staying. Everything had been on a cash basis for him-- he'd done too good a job for us to be able to find anything.

"Anne's rebar hypothesis is correct, and the rebar is epoxy-coated, a not uncommon product used in concrete foundation pouring." I offered.

"So we know they're back in the family business," added Sully, motioning to Jack to make a note on the poster-sized notepade we'd set out for keeping track of what we knew or could look into. Unfortunately, that pad had far fewer entries than the "dead end" pad, much of it the lab evidence we'd accumulated so far-- though at least it had allowed us to find the rest of the bodies.

"When are the Fratelli properties that once belonged to the Romanos going back up for sale?" I wondered allowed.

You shot me a look. "Good question, Bones. There aren't any survivors at all, so it could be any day now, really, as soon as the creditors get the court to allow a liquidation. We'll get someone to monitor that situation." Rodgers nodded, said "got it," then went back to taking notes, as Jack made another note on the larger "to do" pad.

Clark and Jack looked at each other. "We know that Max's steel cutting saw blade is what was used to dismember the corpses, but there are sixty different customers in the tri-state area who bought the particular blade that was used in the last six months. Rodgers and Anne are still running the profiles on all of those businesses."

Jack wrote down "profile saw customers" on the list, then said, "I'll help with that, there's too many for just the two of them," as you thought aloud.

"How many of those are new companies, say, in the last five years or less? Because those are the ones that might most easily be a front for the Romanos-- that's when Carmine, Rocco, and Anthony fell off the radar."

Sully nodded. "And then the rest should be prioritized by whether or not they've got mob ties." Rodgers scratched furiously on his notepad, as Jack listed the criteria for further investigation.

Sully continued. "Sam said he'd have an answer from Freddy one way or the other today, so we'll know by the end of the day if we can start talking to Organized's contacts on our own. I can start running any contact names down if we get them today."

Clark nodded, then said, "I've got limbo cases but can put those aside and help with the initial information rundowns once you get the list, Moron." Sully smiled at his nickname and nodded, as Clark added his name next to Sully's next to the notation "Run Organized Contacts."

"Booth and I will go through the rest of the interview tapes from the Navy Yard this afternoon while I'm at my appointment," I noted, then looked at Paul Rodgers. "Do you have anything more yet on Mr. Cousins?"

"Nothing new, although there was a blip on a duplicate social security numebr that I'm trying to run down." Jack noted 'further profile Cousins,' then looked up expectantly.

Angela spoke up then. "Bren, when you two are done with the latest Navy interview tapes, will you give them to me? I scanned in the Romanos' photos and want to run a cross check, just in case. I already did it with the rest and got nowhere."

I shot her a look. "Is that that new program you've been working on?"

She nodded, then explained to Anne, Rodgers, and Sully. "After Max proved so hard to pin down because of the plastic surgery he'd had, I tried to come up with a logarithm to vary my mass and feature recognition programs to account for possible plastic surgery alterations. Since height and basic frame are the same, regardless, the variables turned out being less complex than I thought they might in creating an analytical framework. It's still experimental, but if it works, then it's better than nothing."

Cam had been looking thoughtful as she watched and listened to the group brainstorming session. "I could probably help to refine the algorithm parameters, Angela. There's only so much manipulation of the tissue and underlying bone that can be done, so if we have a few different pictures of each, then we can extrapolate the maximum range of changes within which any one of the Romanos could have changed their appearance."

We talked for a few minutes longer, then agreed that there was no further reason to linger. "Physical evidence and exemplars back on the platform, people," Cam ordered, as I continued, "all notepads, reports, and flowcharts in my office, please." Everybody grabbed something and started heading downstairs, looking recharged and ready to get back to work.

When it was just the two of us left, and everyone else had headed off to their workstations (and Sully to Cam's office, where he'd set up his own laptop and working area), I looked at you and observed "That went well."

You grimaced. "I don't usually think status debriefings are worth it, but every once in a while when you hit the wall it's good to go over everything that you've got so far. Sometimes being forced to explain things out loud triggers some new ideas."

"Well, we've at least got enough things for the next few days to keep everyone busy, and we can hope that something new will develop."

You nodded, and we stood to watch the bustle that resulted as the team started lab techs scurrying to follow up our discussion. "I want this done, and soon, Booth," I said, not looking at you as I watched Anne and Rodgers compare notes one last time before Rodgers strode out the doors.

"Me too, Bones, me too. I can't help but think it's not over yet, not by a long shot."

A shiver ran down my spine as you said it wasn't over yet, 'not by a long shot,' but I tried to suppress it.

"You alright there, Bones?" you asked, as you picked me up and we headed back down the stairs to my office.

"Just... a feeling," I had, answering you. "I think you're right... it's not over, not by a long shot." I don't like having feelings, not like this, because to me, it says that it's really bad, that even my underdeveloped gut knows it. I don't like it at all, Booth.


	61. Chapter 61

"Hurts?" Your eyes were dark and your forehead furrowed when I opened my eyes to look at you and nodded, then closed my eyes again.

"Just the next twenty minutes."

"You said. What does it feel like?"

"Like tear gas running through your veins," slipped out, before I could stop it. The sensation was too distracting for me to concentrate on publicly-appropriate conversation. Your hand jerked in mine, then tightened, your thumb running over the back of my hand.

"When were you teargassed?"

"Mogadishu," I said, trailing off. You've read my file, the rest of this conversation can't be held in public. Hell, you'd been there, too, though probably a few weeks after I left. It was a twisted sort of providence that we'd worked well together, even apart, before we'd even met, to eliminate a threat.

"I'm sorry, Bones." Three words, two times in my life for it to apply to both of us, now, and then.

"So am I, Seeley."

You echoed my thoughts then. "It's a weird sort of fortune, that. We've always worked well together."

"We have." It's only the truth.

- - - -

We'd just gotten back in the truck when I turned to you, realization dawning on me of a sensation that had been growing all afternoon.

"Booth," I began, still struck with the realization.

You shot me a look with your uncertain tone. "What is it, Bones?"

"I... I think I'm hungry."

You turned so suddenly and reached over the seat to pull me into a passionate, nourishing kiss, your breath mingling with mine as you captured my tongue, your hands in my hair and alongside my cheek holding me to you. When you broke off, I looked at you, dazed, as you gave me the most joyful smile I've seen since our wedding. Stroking my face with your thumb, you smiled and said, "Where to, baby? Your chuck wagon awaits."

"Anamaria's, I think."

You nodded, a brief flash of surprise crossing your face when I failed to question the euphemism. I do know what a chuck wagon means, Booth. I wrote a paper once on the sociological importance of communal meals in the American Western settlement and expansion, with an analysis of the divergence between wagon-train type meals and those engaged in by male-only groups such as cattle drivers and hunting parties.

- - - - -

"Temperance, you pig," you said, lovingly, as I polished off my veal and spinach cannelloni in besciamella sauce, then reached across to take a forkful of your penne bostaciola.

"Oink," I replied, as I finished my bite, then reached across for more. Hmm. That is good.

- - - -

"Bones, that's my cannoli," I chided, as you reached across and pulled my dessert right off of my plate, then closed your eyes as you bit into the shell and started licking the filling out from inside. God, woman, we're in public, you know.

You licked your lips and gave me an innocent look, before lowering your voice to say, huskily, "But Seeley, I want your cannoli."

"Check, please, Anamaria. And... two more cannolis, to go!"

- - - -

You'd just set me down inside the door to lock up, so I shed my coat and shoes, then took our phones over to the chargers in the kitchen. I heard the clank of the .22 into its box in the closet and reminded myself we'd need to childproof the house before Sunday-- move everything down to the basement, I suppose.

I put the cannolis in the fridge and turned just as you advanced on me, eyes sparkling, a wolfish grin on your face. "You still want my cannoli, Bones?"

I pretended to think, then said, "Oh, I don't know, I think I'm rather full."

Your eyes glinted, before you stepped in and tossed me over your shoulder, loping down to the bedroom. "Well that's just too bad, because maybe my cannoli wants you, Temperance," you growled, then tossed me gently onto the bed despite your enthusiasm.

"I don't know, Booth," I murmured, as I pulled my dress up over my head, and listened to the varying thuds and clanks and clicks of you divesting yourself of your clothes and the rest of your weapons as I tossed my own things to the side. "I think I'm more in the mood for a ... sausage... right now," I continued, as you laughed while you peeled off your zebra-striped boxers and socks.

I knelt up to take of my bra and my panties, after tossing my jewelry onto the floor, but you jumped on the bed and pushed me back down before I could finish, saying with a wicked grin, "I might be able to help you with that, but first, I'm in the mood for a little appetizer, maybe a little silk-wrapped candy, first."

Without further ado, your mouth latched onto one of my breasts, sucking me through the thin fabric as I tried to reach for you with my hands, but you batted me away and shifted off to the side so that I couldn't reach you unless you stopped doing what I was really enjoying. "Don't be greedy, Bones," you said, as your fingers slid across my waist and between my legs, "you already had your dinner, half of mine, your dessert, _and _most of my cannoli. Maybe I'm hungry, hmm?" You lowered your head again and blew, your hot breath and the cold damp of the fabric sending a jolt through me.

"Well, you are a growing boy," I managed, as your erection brushed up against my leg as you leant across me to lavish attention on my other breast.

You laughed as you continued to suck at my nipple through the fabric of my bra, your thumb teasing back and forth across my clitoris as you stroked the dampening fabric between my legs. I reached for you again, but you knelt up just far enough to be out of my reach, as you continued to suck at me, your other hand sliding into the cup to palm my other breast as your thumb continued its torture below.

"Seeley," I whined, as you continued to tease, my hips arcing against your hand as you rubbed too lightly to do more than make the ache in my core grown stronger, my nipples painfully taut as you suckled and teased at them, all the heat in my body concentrated on what your hands and your mouth were doing to me. Your mouth shifted again from one breast to the other, as you began to knead my other breast with small, teasing pinches and strokes that your hand rubbing me through the fabric below echoed. I was straining against you as you continued to stroke at me through the fabric, whimpering, "please," as it began to seem like you'd go on forever.

As I begged, "Oh, Seeley, please," again, you moved to capture my mouth with yours as the hand kneading my breasts slid under me to unclasp my bra and pull it away as you positioned yourself over me, allowing me to wrap my arms around your neck as your mouth plundered mine, your tongue, breath, lips and teeth demanding I give myself to you. At last the wet silk you'd kept rubbing over and over my core was gone, with a tug that barely registered in the shock of your fingers entering me, two and then three, curling hard against my walls suddenly as your thumb pushed firmly against my aching clitoris. I screamed with the shock of my orgasm into your mouth, as your fingers continued to twist within me. "Oh, God! Booth!" I cried, as another shock jolted through me as your mouth left mine to latch at my throat, the hand once at my breast pulling my hair back until my neck was totally bared.

"So fucking delicious," you growled, as your fingers left my heat to circle my mound with my own wetness, then began to pinch and to pull at my clitoris, as my hips bucked in response to the cramping emptiness your fingers' exit created. "Scream for me, baby," you whispered, as your fingers pulled at me again and your tongue circled an aching nipple, repeating the motions a second and third time until I could only scream in response, a whimpered "please" the only word I could say. I was clinging to you, arms still around your neck, as you pulled my hair back again and bit at my neck, the sharp edge of your teeth followed by the shock as you surged into me fully, sheathing yourself as my legs pulled you deeper.

"Ah! Jesus! Booth!" I called, as you groaned out "Bones" as my walls tightened around you.

"You make me insatiable," you panted, as I wrapped my legs around the backs of your thighs, opening myself to you as I sped my hips' rocking to meet yours.

"Oh my God, Seeley," I moaned, as your thrusts jolted through me, each nerve permanently on fire as you groaned, "I can't get enough of you."

"Booth, oh, please, oh," I babbled, as I lost my rhythm against you as a hot wave of sensation ripped me from the inside out, then screamed, wordlessly. You continued to pump into me as I lost track of everything but the length of you filling me again and again, your arms holding me to you at my neck and my hips as I struggled and lost any control of my response to you.

"Oh, christ, Temperance" you groaned, as your thrusts became less measured, and then you cried out and let go, the force of your release pushing me over the edge again as I shrieked from another painfully perfect contraction. Your knees and arms shaking above and around me, you pulled me closer to you, then rolled to your back, still within me, and carrying me with you until I lay atop you, my head coming to rest at the join of your neck and shoulder.

I listened to our hearts hammering against each other as we each drew gasping breaths, the sweat between us cooling until I shivered and you rolled to the side, one arm leaving my waist to pull up the covers around us. "Dear God, woman," you panted, "you'll be the death of me, but what a hell of a way to go." I was too limp to do anything but wheeze and pat the side of your face with the two fingers that still seemed to respond to voluntary muscle control, so I did that and tried to regain my breathing, at least.

When I at last found my voice, I said, "Oh, Seeley, I love you," then wheezed again, still not fully in control of my breathing.

"Temperance, love, I love you so much," you replied, one hand beginning to trace my spine as I tilted my head to place a kiss at the one bit of skin on you I could reach. I don't know how long I clung to you, your hand tracing my back, but I had just managed to match my breathing to yours when you drew the hand I'd been tracing your jawline with to your mouth, and then started to suck at each finger. My walls contracted in immediate response, and you firmed and thickened again, filling me and bringing us home once again as you brought your knees up behind me as started to move. As I moaned in response, you growled, "Now that I'm done with dinner, it's time for dessert."

- - - - -

We spent all day Friday at the lab, you and Sully and I in my office trading all the non-scientific records we'd managed to accumulate, taking turns trying to tabulate all the data and make some sense of it. There was so much to organize, and it was hard to wrap my mind around how each piece of data might be relevant or relate to something that way, though at noontime I finally managed to compile a series of database queries that could pull the information from the various sources into the proper fields.

"Finally," I groaned, as I watched the database working menu start to show that it was processing the data and populating all the relevant fields.

"Tempe," said Sully, sucking his thumb from '_another damned papercut_,' "now you're going to tell me your a coding geek too?"

"Angela's taught me a few things," I replied, as you squinted at your laptop, reviewing the photos and videos of the Fratellis, Romanos, and Cugginis again. You'd gotten the call from Sam that Organized was going to make all its contacts available to you, but that Freddy had requested the weekend to contact everyone so they would know to expect a call from you or from Sully, and were trying to memorize all the facts we had on Carmine and Rocco and Anthony.

"I wish we knew if it's just the three of them, but we can't possibly be that lucky. There's got to be several more, maybe cousins or underlings working with them. Freddy's people better be useful," you grumbled, rubbing the furrow in your forehead as you looked up from your laptop.

"Sweeties, and Sully," Angela said, entering the room. "Cam and I are wiped on working this logarithm, I think we've done all we can do while I wait to see if the program will accept the new parameters. What are you up to?"

Sully shot her a mock pout. "Don't I get sweetie status?"

Ange stuck out her tongue, then said, "When was the last time you ordered ice cream for the lab?" He laughed and took it in good measure, but it was true, only you and I merited "sweetie" in her stable of endearments.

"Well, it sounds like a walk to Sid's place is in order," you said, closing your computer down and standing up to shrug the kinks out of your shoulders. "Come on, Bones, quit building queries and let's go grab everyone else and get out for an hour."

Sully complied immediately, closing his computer and setting it aside, saying, "I'll go get Cam," as he walked out of the office.

Angela smiled as you came over to me and started nuzzling my neck until I let you pull my up from my stool, then said, "I'll go get everyone else," and left.

"Mmmm, Bones, you smell like cannoli," you growled, as you kept whiffling the skin behind my ear.

"Well, that wouldn't have anything to do with the totally profligate way that you ate them for breakfast this morning, now would it?"

You affected a hurt look. "I'll have you know that a plate of Bones is eco-friendly in terms of materials and water consumption, Dr. Booth-Brennan. And besides, it tastes better that way."

- - - - - -

A long lunch at Sid's left us all more refreshed, but no one made much more headway except for getting the data more organized than it had been, and before long we were all too brain-fried again to continue. At four-thirty, Cam came to get Sully, and pretended to order us all to appear at their new place by eight "or be fired."

"Right, Camille," I shot, "because the Board of Directors would love to hear that one." She chucked a pen at my head, saying "Screw you, Seeley," and missed. Hah. You never miss, although I could wish you would throw pens and not shoes. Shoes hurt more.

- - - - - -

The evening at Cam and Sully's was convivial and more relaxed than I thought it might be. Cam's become a true friend through all of this, but until tonight I'd never been to her place. Lance and Amelia were also in attendance, and I was glad to see how Anne's comfort with Lance had served to help integrate him more into the group. He'd been very helpful as a profiler, but since this all had happened, he had finally become part of the team, in his own way. We begged off not too long before midnight, since we had to clean the house and go shopping for Parker's birthday presents and dinner for Sunday. On Saturday, we finished the shopping and mapped out the design of the cake for Parker's party, while you moved all the weapons except for the baseball bats and the regular kitchen knives down to the basement. You were doing laundry in the basement while I sat at the island, mid-afternoon, looking again at some of the records we'd gotten from the area saw blade distributors, as well as the rebar manufacturers. There were several companies that had bought both, but there was one construction company, established two years ago, that caught my eye. I pulled up Paul Rodgers' financial and corporate history analyses of the companies, and pondered, but whatever was waiting in the wings for my realization wasn't interested in coming out yet, so I set myself to watching the videos, including the one of the petty officer you hadn't liked.

And then, it clicked.

"Booth!" I called, not even bothering to get out of the stool. "Booth! Get up here!"

You bounded up the stairs. "What's up, Bones?"

"Look, here, Booth..." I said, pointing to the different windows I'd layered so they could all be read at once. "Brothers' Realty Trust owned the building Santana moved into six months before Kenton escaped.. Cousins and Brothers' Construction Company bought these saw blades and rebars. And you don't like this Anthony Cousins."

You looked at me, then looked again at the screen, eyes narrowing. "Cousins and brothers, hmm? What's the Italian for cousins and brothers?"

"Here," I said, opening the window—you'd made the same leap, immediately, that took me several minutes. Romance languages are not my forte.

You shook your head as you looked. "Cuggini means cousin. Fratelli means brother. They'd been hiding in plain sight, the bastards, taking the names of their enemies." You pulled me up for a searing kiss, then said, "Brilliant, as ever. I've got to call Sully, we've got to get that Anthony Cousins in ASAP if Angela can get us a match."

"I'll call Angela and see if she can run that new logarithm on the Cousins film and Anthony Romano's known photos."

"We've got it, Bones. _Finally_."

- - - - -

"Angela, I'm sorry to call on a Saturday, but..."

"What, what do you have for me."

"Is that logarithm done yet?"

"I've got it on my laptop. Why?"

"I want you to run Anthony Cousins."

She paused, then said, "I don't have the tape."

"I have one here, come here, it's closer than the lab."

"On my way."

- - - - -

At the same time you were on the phone with Angela, I was calling Sully. "Tim."

"Booth. What's up."

"Cuggini means Cousins in Italian."

"Meet at the lab, or at your place?"

"Here. Bones brought all the files home and we're already all set up."

You hung up the phone, then called "Bring a power strip, we don't have enough extension cords!"

My Bones, you think of everything.

Within an hour, Sully'd shown up with his laptop, some powerstrips, Cam, and some beers. Jack and Angela arrived not much later than that, with pizzas and salads and wine. Everyone immediately set to, Angela and Cam and I feeding the Cousins video into Angela's laptop and comparing the video to the photos as we waited for the program to load. You three were sitting at the island, going over the financials again, scratching your heads until Jack said, "The company's too clean. Look at this."

He pointed to something on your laptop. "Every single piece of paper required by the corporations division is all filed and dated, each document is signed the same day, the same parties, and the language is identical. Corporations attorneys are never that consistent and complete. It's all paralegals doing this stuff, and it takes forever to get everything signed by all the appropriate corporate officers. I mean, I have a good legal team at Cantilever, but even they aren't this organized in getting me all the stuff to sign off on." He stroked his beard a bit, and then thought. "They had every single thing all lined up and ready to go when they filed with the state-- as if they didn't have an actual business to run and just had a front to set up."

You slapped him on the back, grinning fiercely.

I continued to sit on the couch with Cam and Angela, scanning my eyes back and forth between the old photos and the video stills. "Bones, have some pizza," you said, handing me a plate over the back of the couch. I took the piece, not really paying attention, as I tried to decide. It was possible, though he'd lost significant weight, and there's been some serious remodelling of the forehead and eyes, some trimming of the mouth. I'd essentially decided it was him, when Angela shouted, "Bingo, baby! It's him!" Everyone dropped what they were doing to rush over to look at the computer, as Angela brought up the screens to show us the points of mass recognition. You were on the phone in an instant.

"Mel, it's Booth, look... yeah, step outside, will ya?" You put your hand over the receiver and mouthed "_O'Reilly's_" as we all watched you.

"Look. I need a tail, ASAP, someone even better than good. I think we might have something, finally, on this Kenton fiasco. Yeah, send someone over to my place, we'll run them through the details. Nah-- everyone's already here." You listened to something he said, as a dark thought passed over your face. "No... do me a favor and don't say anything to Freddy just yet, okay? And that goes for whoever you send over, too. No... Sam's fine. Why, is he there? Yeah, might as well."

Sully called Caroline Julian as soon as you hung up. "Caroline, sweetheart, have I got the weekend planned out for you," he said, smiling as she started to yell at him from the other end of the line. "Look, Anthony Cousins? We need an ex parte financials subpoena. Well, Cuggini means Cousins in Italian. Same thing with some construction and realty companies-- everything you can get. No... Mel's sending someone over for tailing. Angela and Jack will write something up for you to use for your motion and email it to you." He paused then, and laughed, and said, "Fine, then, I'll tell them. And... do me a favor? Not a word on this to anyone outside the team besides Mel or Sam for the moment. Anyone asks you anything? Check with me or Booth or Tempe first." Smiling as he hung up, he looked at Jack and Angela and said "Caroline said to tell you two to 'bring _that sorry-ass paperwork to her man Jenkins' end of the house and not to bother with email_.' Said she'd be there through breakfast tomorrow."

Jack shook his head as he went to the fridge and started handing out beers. "The damned pile is so big, she could have moved in and I wouldn't know it for months." Then he started singing, softly, with a huge grin on his face, 'Where _it began/ I cant begin to knowin' / But then I know its growin' strong..."_ You and Sully snickered and joined in on the second verse, and the six of us were signing the final chorus at the top of our lungs as the doorbell rang to reveal Mel and Sam standing on the other side.

"What, why'd you stop?" cracked Sam as he and Mel came in. He pulled the beer Sully'd just opened of his hand, and grinned, "You've got one more repeat to finish," then took a swig and then belted out, "Sweet Caroline/ Good times never seemed so good..."

Mel just laughed, shook his head, and said "Pour me some of that Cabernet Sauvignon, Temperance, will you?"

- - - - -

By nine o'clock, everyone was on the same page and we'd finished the pizza and salads, so I shooed everyone out to the other side of the island so I could start making Parker's birthday cake. I'd pulled out the cookbook, the pan and the mixer, then started separating eggs as Cam and I continued to debate the plastic surgery we thought had most likely been done. People were looking at me strangely as she and I debated the use of fat transplants versus silicone while I pulled out the ingredients, then looked at you strangely too, when you came back from the bathroom and started greasing the baking pan.

"What in hell are you guys doing?" Sam muttered, as I sifted the flour, leavening, and cocoa together.

"Parker's birthday is tomorrow. Cam, do you know any plastic surgeons you can have look at the photos and opine about what precisely he might have had done? Seeley, please start creaming the butter and sugar. Angela, you know how to write up the report so that it has all the requisites for an affidavit, right?"

She shook her head as I bent into the cabinet to pull out the block chocolate and broke it into chunks to put in the microwave. "Remind me again?"

While my back was turned, you said, raising your voice over the sound of the mixer "Ange, describe first the new algorithm and the theory behind it. No need to detail the films, she can fill all that in and same with the photos, but summarize what you and Bones and Cam did with the program and why, then describe the results. Bones, where's the vanilla?"

"Here," I said, handing it to you, "and the cinnamon extract. Mel, who do you think would be best to tail? Booth, that butter's fluffy enough, turn the oven to 400 please?" I pulled out the chocolate and gave it a stir, then set it aside to cool, taking a sip of my wine as I turned to regard the rest of the room.

"Got it Bones. Sam, I'm taking Rodgers off everything else but this for the time being, and Sully and I think we should keep this inside for the time being. I'm sorry, Sam, but we both have a bad feeling about Freddy. Bones, the eggs yolks and extracts all at once, right?"

"Right," I murmured, wiping my hands to go read over Angela's shoulder as she worked on the report for Caroline. "Angela, that's great, maybe just a bit more about the anatomical markers you input as part of the program. Booth, fold in the dry ingredients in three parts after it's mixed for a minute," I said, then went over to check on the melted chocolate and floured the pan over the sink. "Sam, who do you like for a forensic accountant on this one? We need someone with construction background I think," I said, then took the batter you handed me and looked over at the group until Sam blinked.

"Oh, uh, I'll check and let you guys know tomorrow."

"Fine," you replied, then handed me a spatula so I could fold in the chocolate. When I was done, you took the bowl from me and smoothed it into the pan, saying, "Mel, maybe Evan, or someone else you have in mind?" He'd been sitting there bemusedly, drinking his wine, and hadn't answered the first time I'd asked him, but nodded when I said Evan. I took the pan from you and slid it into the oven, then washed my hands and offered you the dishtowel for you to do the same after you finished loading the dishwasher.

"Now, kids," I said, reaching into the fridge, "who's up for some pudding? I've got a new recipe, dark chocolate with Grand Marnier and candied orange peel." I pulled out the bowl I'd made earlier that morning. There was a stampede of feet to the cabinet with the bowls and the cutlery drawer and several muttered male voices saying "_give me that spoon, it's bigger_."

"Oh my God, Tempe," groaned Sully, as he offered a spoonful to Cam, who moaned and rolled her eyes in ecstasy as she tasted it.

"Jesus Christ, Booth, you married Julia Child with a gun," muttered Mel, polishing off a bowl and going back for more.

"Ward, set the timer for forty minutes, please?" I called, as I took the laptop from Angela and made a few last edits to the report to go to Caroline.

"Gotcha, June. Now Sam, the reason Sully and I are concerned about Freddy is..."

- - - - -

"How you doing, there, Bones?" You were sitting on the floor, your back to the couch, playing Candyland with Parker and his four little friends at the coffee table while they munched on pizza and bounced all over the furniture.

"Fine," you smiled, wanly, as another kid shouted, "It's your turn, Dr. Bones!" I winced. Geez. Does Rebecca let these kids yell like this at her house when they're over? It's too bad it's raining outside, I'd run them up the block to the playground for some football to tire them out just a little. It's going to be hell if they keep up like this until their parents come later.

You moved your piece, thinking carefully as you noticed that one of the least talkative kids would be overtaken and fall into last place if you chose the most logical path. I smiled to myself as I watched you throw the game-- so much for killer instinct, hey, Bones?

- - - -

"Booth, when the pizza gets here, I'm going to go hide for a bit," you said, looking pooped as the five of them tromped into Parker's bedroom so he could show them the wooden dinosaur skeleton kit you'd bought him for his birthday. We'd worked until almost midnight last night, seeing Sam and Mel out the door at the last, and you passed out right away when we went to bed. It was a good thing we'd gotten the cake baked and decorated last night while we were still talking with everyone, because you slept in later than usual today before Mass.

"You're a trooper, Bones, I'll bring some in for you, okay?" The doorbell rang just in time, and the kids came flying out of Parker's room screaming "Pizza!" at the top of their lungs, then rushed the door. You winced at the noise, then raised your eyebrow before turning to walk back to the bedroom, fingers tracing the line of the wall as you went.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I called, as one of them went to open the door before I'd gotten there yet. "Come on, Joe, your mom must have told you to never open the door without looking to see who it is first. You get your hand off that doorknob, alright? And Parker, you know better. Just because we have company doesn't mean that all the rules go out the door." They quieted, so I said, "Parks, you guys go pull out some cups and some plates, okay, and I'll get the door. You can start getting sodas out of the fridge, okay?"

I got them all set up at the island including all the ketchup their six year old hearts could desire (ugh, ketchup on pizza) then snagged a piece of cheese for you. "Dad, where'd Dr. Bones go?" Parker asked, his mouth half full. "Chew, swallow, then talk buddy, alright? Bones had a phone call, I'm going to go bring her some pizza. She'll be out when she's done."

He nodded and turned back to his friends, every single one of them yammering over the other as they chewed and talked with their mouths full. Oh, well, birthday parties aren't the best time for teaching manners, I guess.

- - - - -

"Bones, hey, Bones..." I shook your shoulder as I sat on the side of the bed. You'd eaten about half the slice of pizza I'd brought you, then lay down for a nap.

"Mmmpphh," you grumbled, rolling over and cracking an eye.

"I got the movie started and they're all settled down for a bit. Want me to come back when it's almost time for cake?"

"No," you replied, "I'll get up now. It will be interesting to observe the different way in which the children respond to the dramatic themes and imaginary concepts in the movie."

"Admit it, Bones. You just want to watch Snape."

Your eyes twinkled as you slapped me, then let me help you up off the bed. "I'm a Hermione fan, get it straight."

- - - -

The cake was a huge hit. When Jack saw how you'd planned to decorate it last night, with the plastic insect and dinosaur figurines and polished rocks and minerals we'd picked up at the toystore, he got all excited and started pulling out ingredients to make different kinds of toppings for the cake. "And see, here, for the tarpit, we can crush up some oreos real finely, and stick the sabre-toothed tiger halfway in the tar," he enthused, getting into it, and then saying, "Bro, where's the brown sugar? These fire ants need a mound to come back to." By the time he was finished helping decorate, everyone was laughing at him, and offering critiques about whether we should have made a spun-sugar spider web for the black-widow spider that came in the bag, or whether the white sugar icing web we'd drawn on instead was sufficiently gross.

Sam and Mel and Sully were heckling me in between writing up all the notes we'd made, and started calling me Martha Stewart as I whipped up the powdered sugar icing for drawing the spiderweb, but you just stuck out your tongue and said, "Alpha-males have a variety of skills at their disposal," and gave them the _'you sorry beta-males_' look that made them mumble "Sorry, Booth."

The cake was a huge hit with the kids-- they all squealed "Cool!" and "Eeew!" and "That's disgusting, it's awesome!" as I pulled the cake down from on top of the fridge. That's the good thing about little kids-- if it's over their heads, they can't see it, and it might as well not be there. They sang happy birthday and watched as Parker opened the presents they'd brought, and mowed down the cake and the Rocky Road ice cream while they walked the frosting-clad bugs and dinosaurs all over the island. "You can each take an insect or dinosaur home," you said, smiling, then started answering questions about what each one was.

"Dr. Bones is the best," Parker said at one point after you'd described in gory detail the mating habits of the black widow spider. Should I be scared that you seemed to enjoy the explanation a little too much?

- - - - -

"Parker," you said in the bathroom, "finish brushing your teeth, we've got to get you off to school so your dad can drop me at work and get to his own class, okay?" He grumbled a bit, but when I stuck my head in he was cooperating as you finished putting on your makeup.

"Fingernails check, buddy," I said, when he came out with his coat and his backpack, you following behind with your own things. He was grumpy looking, and had kicked a lot last night after he crawled into bed with us, but had basically been well-behaved after his friends had left.

He started sniffling in the car on the way over to school, though, and when I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw he was rubbing the side of his head. "You got a headache there, Bub?" You turned to watch him.

He shook his head and mumbled, "No, my ear hurts a little."

"Does it hurt like an ear infection, or like something else?" I asked. Crap. If he was getting a cold, he'd already exposed us both to it.

He sniffled again, and said, "I don't know."

"Do you want me to call Rosie and see if she can take you today?" He shook his head at the mention of his babysitter, and said "No, we're learning rocks today, I want to go."

You looked at him closely and said, "If you're sure, Parker. If you start feeling worse, you should tell the teacher, I can always find out what you missed and we can go over it later, okay?"

He gave you a bright smile, but said, "I'll be fine, Dr. Bones." And then sneezed. Shit.

You rummaged in your purse for a tissue and turned around, then wiped his hands and his face with a solemn "Bless you." Wadding the tissue, you pulled out your hand sanitizer, squeezed it into your palms, then said, "Stick out your hands for me?"

You rubbed the gel into his hands and yours, and recapped the tube. "Parker, if you start sneezing more, you should definitely tell the teacher, okay?"

"Why, Dr. Bones?"

"Because if you're sick you could make other people sick the more you're around them, and you don't want other people to get sick too, do you?"

He shook his head and said no, then perked up as I pulled up in front of the school yard. I came around and unbuckled him, then handed him to the ground as you sat and gave him a wave, before he smiled and ran off.

I'd already come back around to the driver's side when Parker turned and ran back over to you. "Dr. Bones!" he yelled, pulling even with your still-open car door. "I forgot to say thanks for the cake!" He reached up to climb up the side of your seat, but became overbalanced by his bookbag, and started to fall backwards. In a second, you lunged to the side to grab the front of his coat, stopping him from hitting the ground.

Thank God you did, because at the same moment that you bent to grab him, a bullet slammed through the windshield, where you'd been sitting a second before. By the time I'd ducked and turned toward you, two more bullets slammed through the glass where I'd been. You'd already undone your seatbelt and pushed Parker under you onto the ground, half under the side of the truck.

"Go, Seeley, I've got it!" you yelled, so I took off after the nondescript pickup truck pulling out hellbent for leather. I chased it a block and a half but he'd gotten too much of a head start, though I got the plates and the model number. A cop car was just arriving when I ran back to the truck, and thank goodness it was D.J. responding. He saw me running back up and pulled up his radio to call into F.B.I. Dispatch. "Amelia, it's D.J., get a ballistics team over here now," he barked, then read off the address.

You had Parker still under the truck, and the teachers in the yard had herded all the kids into the school in the meantime, some looking shocked at the gun in your hand as you crouched in the door well, waiting for the all clear.

"Bones, I got the plates and the model but they're gone," I panted, then grabbed a pen and some paper from the armrest to write everything down. D.J. came over to my side of the truck and said, "They're sending someone over now."

You slowly stood, pulling yourself up on the door, then said, softly, "Parker, you can come out now, it's okay." I came around to the side and pulled him out the rest of the way, checking him over and seeing no signs of injury, then hugging him to me as he looked around, wide eyed.

"Was that the bad guys, Daddy?"

I managed to keep my voice light as I answered. "It was, buddy, so you know what? I'm gonna have you go inside with Chief Johnson here, until Rosie comes to get you, alright? Bones and I are going to talk to the police and the rest of the people who are coming to help, okay?"

He nodded solemnly and said, "Okay, you guys catch the bad guys, alright?"

You smiled at him and said, "Whatever you say, Bub, now give me and your dad a kiss, okay?" I handed him to you and he wrapped his arms around you like a monkey, giving you a dramatic kiss on the cheek as you laughed, then handed him back to me. I resisted the urge to shove him back in the car and drive like hell for Canada, and just gave him a kiss and a "Be good for Rosie and Chief Johnson, okay?"

D.J. took him and Parker waved over his shoulder. "Have fun catching the bad guys!"

When he was out of sight, you let out a shaky exhalation. "So much for keeping Freddy out of the loop." I pulled you into me, wrapping my arms around you and pulling your head into the crook of my shoulder as I ran one hand up your arm. You hissed as I reached the top of your arm, then pulled away, a puzzled look on your face.

"Take your coat off, Temperance, let me see," I ordered, then did it myself, needing to see what it was immediately, turning you toward me until I could see it-- a long tear in the dark fabric and a deep graze underneath across the top of your shoulder. You hissed as I accidentally touched it while tearing the fabric further away, then twisted to look for yourself.

"Superficial, essentially," you said, slipping in to clinical mode, as we both watched it well bright red blood. "I can dress it myself," you continued, then turned and reached into the glove compartment for a wad of paper napkins to press on the wound.

"You are _not_ dressing that yourself, Bones. You're going straight to the hospital and you're staying there the rest of the day where it's safe."

You glared at me and shoved me away. "I am _not_ going to the hospital before this afternoon, Booth. There are three bullets in this car that need analyzing, and there's more work to be done at the lab. Cam's fine, but they just don't work as fast without me there to hound them. They could have hit Parker, Booth. I'm not wasting a damned minute more on this than I have to."

D.J. came back at this point, and you turned to him, saying, "D.J., do you have a first aid kit in your car? I've got a graze here I want to clean up." He looked at me, torn between the look of determination on your face and what was probably panicked fury on mine, and decided you were scarier. He headed back to his car, then brought it back, offering you antiseptic wipes that he'd already torn open for you. We both watched in silence as you hissed and cleaned out the wound yourself, then took the self-sticking gauze he offered and smoothed it down over the wound.

"Fine, Bones, damnit, have it your way, but if it doesn't stop bleeding in the next three minutes I'm cuffing you and taking you to the hospital myself."

You pulled me to you and reached up to kiss me, looking me straight in the eye the whole time, before parting for air and saying, "I love you, too."


	62. Chapter 62

**_Thanks so much for all your patience as I put this on the back burner to refresh my creative juices with some other stories instead. I'm hoping for one update a week on this from here on out. This is, for sure, my favorite story/ongoing saga to write, and I so appreciated all your comments, PM's, favorites, and support. Thank you!_**

**_* * * *_**

Sully and Cam showed up 10 minutes after Ballistics arrived with a new truck, Cam driving Sully's truck and Sully in my replacement. "Standard issue," Sully said with a frown as he handed me the keys. Damnit. I don't like what the Bureau thinks is the standard issue number of weapons.

"Let me go talk to Eric," I said.

"Eric!" I called, and he looked up, then trotted over.

"What's up, Booth?"

"Look-- Sully got me the new ride but..."

"Yeah. It's not a fucking armory like yours." His words were harsh, and I suppose a straight and narrow Agent would feel guilty about having all those extra things in the truck, but I really don't give a damn. But his eyes flicked to the side where Bones was arguing with Cam about letting Cam look at her shoulder and said, his voice low, "Listen. I will do the contents inventory after we get the photos done and get it to the Jeffersonian. But you're going to have to wait until then, it's a mob scene right now, and I am not retrieving them myself, so they'd better be out of sight of the photos, and you'd better have someone competent who can get them back for you. Some asshole shoots himself in the foot unloading your fucking mobile gun show, I'm not helping."

"That's all I need. Thanks." He nodded and walked off.

My phone buzzed then, and after looking at the I.D., I flipped it open. "Mel." I wasn't going to say more, I was so furious. Where the hell was his tail on Cousins?

"Evan was shot, a neighbor called it in twenty minutes before your recent adventure when she noticed that someone seemed to be sleeping in a car." Well that explained how the hell Cousins or whoever made it over here without our knowing he'd slipped his leash.

"Is he..."

"In surgery. They don't know how long."

Goddamnit. Mel was the head of Surveillance, but Evan was his second in command and had been, for ten years. They were best friends, and they and their partners were their own little family, vacationing together and socializing outside work, while pretending like they were both still single bachelors at the Bureau. Most people knew better, but no one really talked about it. Machismo has its drawbacks that way. "I'm sorry. Well, I won't keep you, I know you and Arthur and Dean will want to be over there."

"Arthur's there right for me right now. I've got a few more things to clean up. Sam said to tell you they've got Freddy in holding and that he'll meet you at Cousins' apartment."

"Who's watching Freddy while we're out?"

"The Director." Oh. Well, it was time he got involved, too. This cluster had now infected three departments. It was going to wind up on his desk come Congressional budget hearings time anyway.

"How's Temperance?"

"Grazed, and pissed as hell." Just thinking about it all over again made my blood boil and my hands itch to find someone to shoot.

"Booth, not that it wasn't before, but it's war. We'll get these fuckers. I mean, goddamnit, a fucking school?"

"I know." Eric looked over as he ducked out of my truck then, giving me a look before heading back to his van. "Look, we just got cleared, Mel, I've got to go, I'll talk to you later. And... I'll say a prayer for Evan."

"Thanks, Booth. Every little thing helps."

I made one more call before heading back.

"Jack, listen, it's Booth. I need you to do something for me."

"I heard, brother. What is it?"

"My truck's going to be at the lab shortly. I need you to..."

- - - - -

When I came back, you were on the phone with the Navy Commandant, your eyes dark with fury and your voice even and vicious as you spoke. "No, you listen to me, _sir_. You have an identified mafia killer hiding in your ranks as a petty officer, and I want every single piece of paperwork having to do with him _now_. If you won't give it to me voluntarily, I will go as far over your head as is necessary to get what I need, and I will drag your name through the press as the military officer so concerned with scandal that he refused to assist the FBI with investigating a shooting outside an _elementary school yard full of children_." You paused and then smiled. "Well, I may be a bitch, but I'm the bitch telling you that you will have every single piece of paper having to do with Anthony Cousins brought to the Jeffersonian to my attention by ten thirty this morning, or I will have every Senator, Congressman, General, and national news network on your ass by ten forty five. And did I mention that the President's wife is a huge fan of my books?" You listened further. "I don't care, Commandant, really, and you wouldn't, either, if someone had taken a shot at your child like someone did at mine this morning." There was another pause, and then you said, "Ten thirty, Commandant," and hung up. The ballistics and evidence techs standing around were literally cringing as they listened to you. Bones, you're the best badass wife a guy could have. Know why?

You ripped the heart out of my chest and stuffed it back in again, as you called Parker yours in that vicious tone of voice. As if I didn't already love you more than anything else in the world to begin with. I know that when you lunged for Parker, it was just to keep him from landing on the pavement, though he would have just had the wind knocked from him, nothing else. But the what ifs if he'd made it up into your seat like he sometimes would do, and the what ifs if you hadn't been determined to save him even from what would have been just a minor fall knocked the wind out of me.

You looked over at me, a fierce light in your eyes, and said, "Are we cleared?"

"We are," I said, as Sully loped back over from the Ballistics van and Cam stood off to the side, eyes wide at hearing your conversation.

You looked around and nodded to yourself as you saw we were truly clear. "Well, let's get back to work and get these fuckers. I'm tired of this. I will shoot every last fucking one of the bastards myself if it's what we have to do to get this hell over with." I don't know that Cam and Sully knew you were serious, rather than speaking merely from anger, but their eyes were wide with shock at your language. But Parker knows you always mean what you say, and I knew it too. A chill ran down my spine at the same time as my pride in you swelled my heart close to bursting. Parker couldn't have a better protector than you.

- - - - -

We made our little two-truck convoy to the lab, and made it inside, Sully and Cam peeling off to her office as I followed you. You were stalking through the lab, still running on adrenaline, and not a bit wobbly or slow. I had no doubt you could win a hundred-yard dash right now if you felt like it.

"Come on," you said, tugging me off to the garden as we passed the platform on the way to your office.

"Bones, no." You turned to look at me, eyes furious.

"I am not going to let them run our lives. This is important, Booth. You can come with me, or you can hide inside. But I'm going." Defeated, I followed you, and watched as you snagged the daisies from the knob then stepped out the door, pausing to scan all the sight lines. Good Bones.

"Come on, Booth, let's go," you said, holding your hand out to me. We made our way over to our usual bench, and I prayed with all my might for all of us. _Please. Just take care of all of them, so I can take care of her_. When I was done, you'd plucked two separate piles of petals, and picking up the first one, saying "This one's for Evan." As you blew, a hot, scorching wind blasted the petals in your hand away, but left the ones still in your lap undisturbed. The second wind returned as you gathered the rest and blew again, carrying them off to wherever random breezes responded to the mood and need of the moment. _Please_, I thought, once again.

- - - - -

On my way to Cousins' apartment, I made another call. "Sid," I said, as soon as he answered the phone.

"Seeley, what?"

"I need to call in that favor."

He paused, then said, "I figured you might. I heard what happened. How often you need me?"

"Today at least, maybe tomorrow. I've got to talk to her father, see what he thinks he can do."

"Nah, man. I've got Max's number, he gets delivery for Maureen sometimes. You let me take care of arrangements."

"Thanks, Sid. It's asking a lot, I know, but..."

"Seeley, man, it's nothing but even. I got it. I'll call you when we get there."

"Thanks."

"I'll do what it takes."

"Sua sponte, Sid."

"Sine pari, my man." He hung up with a click.

- - - - -

"Cherie," came the voice over my cell phone not long before ten. "Your boy's still out at the apartment with Samuel and Timothy, so I figured I'd better call you. I got the order on those financials and the marshals are on it right now. I'll have them bring whatever they get straight to the lab."

"Thank you, Caroline. Did Sam make any mention about that accountant?"

"He did. When I hear from the marshals I'll give him a call and send him right over."

"Thank you, Caroline."

She paused as if she was going to ask something, but then stopped. "You're welcome. We'll get them. I'll talk to you later." She rang off, and I left my phone on the table as I called out to the platform from the couch. I'd been nonstop dizzy since the adrenaline wore off, not long after you left.

"Could someone get Jack for me? Please?" Mind your manners, Temperance, I thought to my self, if you're going to bark like a drill sergeant.

I head Clark's voice relay the request, and moments later an answering bellow from Jack, somewhere at the back of the lab. Poor Cam. Well, she'd just have to install an intercom system. Dialing the phone is inefficient.

"You bellowed, my dear?" came Jack's voice from the doorway.

"Yes, please, sit down," I said, pulling my feet up to make room on the couch. "Caroline just called and the marshals are seizing the financials this morning. Sam has an accountant that he'll send over, but..."

The avid light in his eyes when he smelled a conspiracy burst into flame. "You don't trust him as far as you can throw him."

I snorted. "Considering I couldn't even throw a pencil right now, yes."

He rubbed my blanket clad legs idly as he thought. "Well, I'll get everything scanned into our database and lock it down as soon as it gets here, and then see if Jenkins can't find me somebody trustworthy to look at it for us as well."

"Jenkins-- of course," I smiled.

Jack snorted and quirked an eyebrow. "He is the CFO. I'm sure he'll find someone."

"The CFO of the Cantilever Group is your _butler_?"

His eyes twinkled. "No, my butler is the CFO of the Cantilever Group-- there's a difference. Of course, he was the chief auditor for the GAO during the S & L bailout, so they can hardly complain. It drives the Board of Directors _nuts_ when he attends meetings in those shirts."

"Jack, you do take the cake."

He laughed. "He prefers taking care of the house to taking care of the finances, and mostly he doesn't do much CFO work, he hired a good team, but when I had to fire my old one a few years ago, he said, _'if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,'_ and insisted I appoint him. Considering he's the only one who knows where all the rooms in the house are, I figured I'd better do what he said."

I just shook my head, then pulled up my laptop and shifted so I was sitting next to him. "So, Prince CEO, tell me how to read a basic balance sheet so I know what Jenkins' accountant will mean when we talk to him."

He spent the next fifteen minutes going over the basics, when my desk phone rang. I looked at the clock-- ten fifteen. Jack trotted over to my desk, answering "Dr. Booth-Brennan's office... yes, just a moment."

He handed me the phone, dragging the cord across the floor so I had enough reach. "Oh, thank you, Larry. Have someone bring him back, please."

There was a knock at the door a few moments later, looking up to greet the guard. "Thank you, Larry. Come in, sir," I said, motioning to the chair across from me as Jack narrowed his eyes and took his seat back next to me.

"I'd get up, Commandant, normally, but you see, I was shot today by your rogue petty officer, and I'm feeling a little under the weather. What have you got?"

He flinched, and then looked at Jack, then back at me, and gave in. Setting down the box of files he'd brought on the table, he pulled out a folder. Sighing, he handed it to me.

"Cousins arrived on base eight months ago, all his papers seemingly in order from a transfer from Chicago. After I got off the phone with you, I pulled his entire file and called his former superior officer." He paused, deeply embarrassed and angry. "He'd never heard of him."

Of course. "Go on, Commandant."

- - - - -

As soon as he left, Jack grabbed the box of files and said, "I'll have Anne go scan these now. You start your report," and took off, tossing my dictaphone at me after detouring by my desk. I caught it. At least my reflexes still work.

I paused before beginning, deciding to let you know what came next, then composed a text message.

"_Cousins bckgrd fake. Using clrnc to see how far up it goes. Marshals on financials, JH will get prvt frnsc acct_."

"_Be careful. Seeing Freddy w Sam in 10. Sid will take you to doctor's, pls. LOML_."

"_Tell Sid to bring extra onion rings. I'm hungry. LOML_."

As I booted up the classified database, I began to dictate the summary of the meeting with the Commandant, then set back to work.

- - - - -

Sidney appeared an hour before it was time to leave, bearing bags in his hands and two almost imperceptible bulges under his leather jacket at his waist and his shoulder. Everyone followed him in as he entered my office, then started handing out cartons with his usual banter. "And extra-special O rings for T.B.," he said, handing me a second container as he smiled and sat in the chair opposite mine, opening the last container and starting in on his own lunch. Jack and Angela sat and started working on their meals as the others thanked Sid and drifted off.

Jack looked searchingly at Sid, then said, "You don't usually stay for lunch."

"No, kid, I don't," he said, "but I'm keeping T.B. company the rest of the day." Jack's eye strayed to Sid's waist as he bent forward, the leather stretching across a small bulge there.

"Cool," he responded, his eyes narrowed, then went back to his spicy beef yaki soba. "Sid, man, just, thank goodness you're back. Did I ever mention how much I hate the diner?"

Sid snorted and said, "Well, don't hate it much longer. Flo's retiring and Jeanie and I are buying it. I've got a cousin, Louis, who's sick of his place in Atlanta and wants to try something new. It'll be all southern cooking, all the time, instead of whatever I feel like. Caroline's letting me have the recipe for her spoonbread and everything." Jack smiled almost as wide as when we went on our field trip.

- - - - -

"Annie, this is Mr. Charles," I said, introducing Sid to the receptionist. "He's going to wait out here while I see Delia, if you'd send him back to meet me when Delia calls you, that would be great."

She nodded and smiled, seemingly unfazed by the large cast of characters accompanying me to appointments these days, and oblivious to the sheer number of them carrying guns under their jackets, including myself. Thank goodness the medical center doesn't have medical detectors. It seemed like she, unlike others on the staff, was oblivious of the shootout with Santana. There were some who practically scuttled away in the hallway since then when they saw me. Well, I wouldn't want to draw fire if I could help it, either.

I smiled at Sid and he nodded, then watched as I trailed the wall down to Delia's office, and gave him a wave before I entered and sat.

As I took off my jacket, she noticed me wince. "What happened?" she asked, sharply.

"Oh," I said, not airily at all, "someone shot at us this morning while we were dropping Parker at school. I was grazed."

"Jesus Christ," she murmured, helping me off with my dress and slip and inspecting the bandage. There hadn't been too much seepage, and I braced as she peeled the dressing off.

"Well, at least you field-dressed it correctly," she said, clinically appraising the dressing and poking at the wound until I hissed.

"Sorry," she said absently, as she turned and pulled more antiseptic wipes, cream, gauze and tape from a cupboard. "Did one of you at least get the guy?"

"Not yet," I said, thinking of what I would do if I did. She turned just then to face me, and literally jumped at the expression on my face, then said, "I don't want to know what you'll do when you find him, I guess."

"No, Delia, you don't."

She shook her head, and finished re-dressing the wound, her mouth grim. "Here," she said, holding up a fresh tube of ointment before slipping it into my bag. "This is extra-strength antibiotic cream, I want you to redress that four times a day, layer the cream as thick as I just did. At the first hint of pus, I want you back in here. No arguments. I'm emailing Seeley, and he will make sure, you can bet on it. I'll write you a script for oral pills, too. You take the whole ten day course and double up on the steroids in the meantime." She went over to the desk, wrote two prescriptions, and put those in the bag as well. "Anything else I should know?"

"I've been hungry since Thursday," I offered, "and had a double cheeseburger, fries, onion rings and a milkshake for lunch. And Parker's coming down with a cold. He sneezed while we were all in the car this morning. I gelled off his hands, but the airborne germs are all in my system already-- we had him all day yesterday and last night."

She shook her head. "Well, wear your mask at work, keep making everyone wash their hands, drink all the water and juice you can stand, but stay away from zinc and other things. I don't want you getting diarrhea, which the antibiotics will already predispose you for. You call your if breathing is labored or the mucus is stringy or khaki green, or well, you know the drill."

"I do." She conducted the rest of the physical, drawing blood and checking how sturdy my veins were. Thank goodness, no permanent portal yet.

"Well, let's get you weighed up and get you out there. I set aside that private room for you and your... friend, I did get your message." She helped me off the exam table, waiting at my elbow when I stepped up on the scale. I kept my eyes closed as she fiddled with the weights.

"Three more pounds on since last week. Keep up the good work," she said, holding my hand as I stepped off and back onto the floor.

"I just wish I could do as well with this case as I seem to be doing with eating and drinking," I grumbled.

"Me too," she said. "But you keep eating the way you have and you'll be tackling the bad guys yourself in no time." She handed me my things, her hand at my back as I pulled them back on, then held my elbow as I stepped back into my shoes.

"How's the dizziness doing?"

"Pretty much the same. It was worse, this morning, after the adrenaline wore off, but it's pretty much back to the usual now. No falls since last week, though," I said. "Because resisting gravity as a biped with ten thousand years' evolutionary experience in standing upright should be considered an accomplishment."

Her face twisted in acknowledgment of my bitter joke. "I know. It's not fair. But you're a fighter, and frankly, I've patients with better initial prognoses than you who are at home curled up in their beds, waiting to die-- so, they probably will. You're not one of them, Temperance."

"I hope not, Delia. I have bad guys to catch."

- - - - - -

Sid worked on order forms for the restaurant while I reviewed the Cousins information provided by the Commandant-- then I had a thought.

"Sidney," I said, wondering if I was overstepping things, "you were Intel, correct?"

He nodded. "That's how I met your boy Seeley-- I was his contact over there for targets. 'Course, he should have been Intel too, he's the one who found out they knew who I was and were coming for me, and got us both out of there in time with the other kid in his unit, Alfie."

"Do you still have your clearance?"

He looked at the closed door, and then nodded again.

"Would you be able to spot forged transfer papers and other forged internal documents if you saw it?"

He thought, and then said, "Probably." He thought for a moment more, then said, "Why, what have you got?"

"Only if you're sure," I said. "You've already done too much."

"Nah, T.B.," he replied with a smile, "it's just what family does. Here, let me see."

He accepted the laptop and my brief explanation, and then started scanning the documents. He was fully engaged in them in moments, so I pulled up the hard copies I'd had Anne make for Jack and I of the financial statements the marshals delivered a half hour before Sid and I left. They did look too clean, to my amateur eye, and several entries seemed particularly suspicious. I opened my phone, and sent a text to Jack with the line and column numbers of the suspicious entries, and then waited. Ten minutes later, a return message buzzed.

"_Acct agrees. Will have report by 9 pm_. _FBI flunky acct already left for the day_."

"_Check w Sully or Booth re tail on flunky_."

"_Sully agrees_."

Sid had stopped paging through the documents then by the time I was done with those messages, and looked at me expectantly. "Just having one department of the FBI tail an employee of another department," I said with a smile.

His smile in return was as sinister as any I'd ever seen, and one that I'd never seen on him before. It promised thorough and just revenge-- no wonder you trust him implicitly. "Just like the good old days, T. I just love internecine squabbles-- they're my favorite kind of mess." He paused, then shifted his chair so we could both look at the laptop screen. "Now these, here? These are definitely forged. And I bet know who forged them. Here's why..."

- - - - -

"_Sid has intel. See you at home. LOML_." I'd wondered when it looked like there was something messy going on inside Navy, whether I should ask him, but I didn't know if he'd welcome it. Apparently he had. What did we do to get so lucky in our friends, Bones?

- - - - -

Sid was sitting at the island when I came in, working at the laptop.

"Hey, man," he said, making notes on a notepad as he paged through the documents he'd pulled up on the screen. "T.B.'s lying down, said she'd had it for an hour or two. She already wrote up her notes for the day, they're on here somewhere. Your best man Jack's accountant is supposed to call in a while."

"How long ago did she lie down?"

"About an hour or so," he replied, still focused on the screen in front of him. "You go check, I'm almost done here." He was wearing that same "_I'm solving a puzzle_" look he used to get, so I left him to work, going back to the hall closet to unload the .22.

I pushed open the door and saw you were still sleeping, but as I stepped into the room, you shifted and murmured "Booth?" and rolled to your side.

"That's me," I said, coming over to sit at the side of the bed.

"Hi," you smiled, eyes still half-closed. "Glad you're home. Sidney's got some interesting news, and Jack's accountant should be calling soon." How do you do that, Bones? You're half asleep and you're already talking about the case again, when all I can focus on is checking your shoulder and the rest of you again to make sure you're still here. Well, not as long as Sid's still here, but still.

You pushed yourself up halfway, and blinked at me, sleepily. "Give me a kiss, Ward," you said, smiling, then pushed yourself up fully to sitting.

"Whatever you say, June," I replied, obliging you and reassuring myself with the feel of you pressed up against me, your sweet breath in my mouth and your hands in my hair. When we broke for air, you patted my cheek, and said, "More bad guy getting right now, but just for an hour or two, okay?" I got up and pulled you to standing, wrapping my arms around you as I breathed in your scent and your perfume overlying it. You don't need perfume, Bones, you're perfect as is.

"I gained another three pounds," you said softly into my chest as I held you to me.

"Glad to hear it, Jasper," I whispered, trying to keep things light, for now.

"Oink," you laughed, pushing away and stepping up on your toes for a softer, smaller, still-perfect kiss. "Let's go. The sooner we talk to Sid and Jack's accountant friend, the sooner we can be alone."

- - - -

Sid ran down what he'd found, and listed the leads he thought we should follow up on, then left his notes with a number of someone to call to try to collect on the leads.

"Thanks, man," I said, when I saw him to the door. He'd cooked dinner while he ran down his conclusions, despite both our protests, and you were working on seconds at the island when he packed up to go. Seconds. Thank God.

"Hey, man, family," he said, with a smile. As we stepped out onto the doorstep, he said, "Max is all taken care of for Wednesday. I got her tomorrow, alright? You and Sullivan go get these bastards."

"Sua sponte, Sid, if I have to," I replied.

He punched my shoulder. "Nah, man, you're never alone if I'm around."

- - - - -

Jack's accountant and Jack called at the appointed hour, and the accountant detailed with excitement the information he thought he could retrieve based on the balance sheets.

"Do you need a warrant for that?" I asked, thinking it would be hard to explain to Sam why I didn't trust our own accounting weasel-- although, maybe not, the way Freddy caved today. Half his contacts were shit, and he flat out admitted two of them had him on the take. I was at the point where I couldn't trust anyone I'd never directly worked with at the Bureau anymore. Thank God for you squints, annoying and nerdy and utterly trustworthy.

A snort emerged from the other end of the line. "Not to be rude, but that would just get in the way," he said, and Jack chuckled. "I'll tell Dr. Hodgins what I find next, but I have both your cell numbers if I need to reach you immediately."

"Thank you," you said, "really. Great work."

"It's my pleasure," said the still-unnamed accountant. "I'm Ted Macy's brother. He was a gold-digging bastard, but no one deserves to be done in like that."

"Thanks," you husked, your eyes widening, "we'll talk with you later."

"G'Night kids," said Jack, and then rang off.

"Do you think the universe could talk to us only once in a day?" you asked, your voice shaking.

"I'm not asking for that Bones, not at all. It can say as much as it wants to, as long as it keeps up what it's been doing."

- - - - - -

I made you stop at the bathroom rather than let you carry me all the way to the bedroom after we locked up for the night-- I needed to re-dress my shoulder. "Toss that," I said, when you took the now-ruined dress from me and watched as I peeled off the bandage and cleaned the wound again, then applied the ointment and the new bandage.

"How many times did she say again?" you murmured, as I put the things away and took the last dose of steroids and antibiotics for the night. "Four times a day," I replied, setting the water glass down and heading back to the bedroom. I sat at the edge of the bed so I could pull off my slip and my underthings, and watched the rippling interplay of your muscles as you removed your own things. I stood up again, and pushed past the headrush to walk around to my side and pull down the covers, then climbed in and waited for you as you replaced the 9 mm. under the bed.

You joined me, your eyes pained as you took in my shoulder again, and whispered, "Oh, Temperance," pulling me into you as you lay down and pulled the covers up over us.

"Seeley, I know," I replied, running my hands over the skin of your abdomen as I shifted to kiss you, and let my fingers re-learn the lines of your body. I traced each etched defined muscle and bone as I kissed my way over each scar and healed-over bone callous I could find, tasting the spicy tang of your skin and the reassuring heat and firmness of your body under my hands and my mouth.

"Bones," you said hesitantly, "what if..."

I looked up at you and answered as best as I could, willing you to believe me as I looked at you, your eyes glinting and dark in the shadows of the bedroom. "It's always what if. Life doesn't stop in the meantime."

I didn't want to talk more about it, so I resumed re-exploring you, allowing my searching fingers and tongue and lips do the talking. Sometimes it's only possible to say things without words, so I tried to let you know that the '_what if_' hadn't happened today. I hoped you would know I was still here when I took you into my mouth and sucked and licked slowly at you, prolonging your pleasure as long as I could as I let my hands splay on your stomach and thighs-- bracing myself, taking you in as much as I could. You were starting to gather when you groaned out "Bones, stop," so I let you pull me away and take your turn, re-exploring me and reassuring us both of our still-hereness.

Your mapping of my body was languid, and I was near drunk with sensation when you slid into me, the completion of it all pulling a gasp from me, as always. "Oh, God, Temperance," you groaned, as you slowly withdrew and then sank back into me, the feel of you more satisfying than anything else. "Ah, Booth," I replied, managing to get my arms around your back, the bones of your spine arching and curling under my fingers as we moved together and apart again. I let my hands wander the length and strength of your back and your arms as I rocked my own hips against yours, then gasped and tightened as your mouth found a new spot in the hollow of my clavicle to tease and suck, the feeling shooting through me as I bucked against you.

"Ah!" I cried out, and you chuckled before your tongue curled against that spot again, evoking another moan in response.

"Always something to learn, Bones," you whispered, then captured my earlobe in your teeth and sucked at it as you sped your motions. As you shifted your grasp on my hips, I pulled my knees up to open myself further to you, the change in angle bringing you hard against the mound of my cervix, and drawing a moan from you as I took you in deeper.

"Always something," I echoed, as I shifted my hands to your hips, cradling you with my legs and pulling you to me as you levered yourself up from your elbows to extend your arms. The pace sped slowly but surely after that, each of us pulling the other closer to the edge until you suddenly scooped your hands fully under my hips, pushing hard against my G-spot so quickly I lost my grip on your hips as my orgasm seized me. "Ah! Seeley!" I cried, as you drove into me again, your thrust sending more ripples through me before the first wave had even passed. "Bones," you groaned out, "you're mine, you have to stay," you gasped, as you stroked into me again and I screamed with the force of the third spasm taking me, then cried out as you started to lose your own control, your returns to me becoming erratic as you finally came with a forceful jerk and a rippling pulse of heat inside me. I was wordless, but hoped that my own call of fulfillment was answer enough. I am yours, and I'll stay, if you ask me. I'm still here. So are you.


	63. Chapter 63

63

Tuesday morning you woke up sniffling. "Goddamnit," you grumbled, then sneezed. Six new pounds was not a good immune system booster, not by far. You insisted on going to work, and in the end, it made sense, because at least if you got worse someone could take you to see Delia. As if that "_I'm going to kill anyone who risked Parker like that_" look wasn't enough to convince me. You sneezed a half a dozen times on our way from the truck to the lab garden, though at least that breeze was nice and warm, while it carried away your petals for Evan and your own, in two different directions. I wondered what that meant, if anything.

Angela texted me Tuesday mid-morning to say "_T & J found particulate data from Cousins apt., T taking nap,_" and an hour later, Jack followed up, saying, "_T and acct agree on poss base ops_," along with the address. Sid left me a voice mail that by that afternoon, you were sniffling, had a low grade fever, a sore throat, and a headache, but your shoulder wasn't infected, and that Delia had merely made you drink a quart of orange juice while you and Sid worked away during your chemo. Sully and I checked out the address right away, and it was entirely possible it was in use, but there were too many people coming and going to risk a warrantless entry. When our replacements came, Nick, my old partner from Narcotics and Mel's Arthur, both people I could trust, I called Sam to see if he'd had any luck with chasing down info from those of Freddy's contacts who hadn't scattered like rats when he called them. They'd all panned out, personally, but one knew of someone who might know something, though they weren't informant material.

"She's willing to meet early tomorrow," he said, then filled me in on why-- she was a journeyman carpenter who used to work with the Fratellis, maybe even dated the youngest sons, one of the last to be killed. _Please, let her be useful_, I thought, _and take care of everyone else so I can take care of Bones_. I made arrangements to be present, checked in with Nick and Arthur, and then briefed Sully and Evan's Dean on what Nick and Arthur had seen. Dean insisted on being in on it. "Evan's stable, and Mel's with him. Mel will call if he needs me, and Evan would want me to help nicking these fuckers," he'd said, during the phone conversation I'd had with Mel about borrowing Arthur.

I was worried for Sully taking two spells at stakeout, but he said he'd crashed at his and Cam's apartment and gotten four hours' sleep, so at eight, I left the office, and dumped a shitload of paper on Rodgers. I felt bad, he wanted back out in the field, but I needed someone to put out the worst of the bullshit administrative fires until this nightmare was over.

-------------

You were sniffling and working away on your laptop at the island while Sid made dinner and talked forgery with you. I came in on Sid saying, "Yeah, Kevin Doolan's the best. Immigration papers, birth certificates, social security cards-- whatever you need to start a completely new life. He's ex intel, has a beef, not that I even really blame him. According to what I heard, he was one of the Intel guys on the multinational force sent to Lebanon, and when the bombing happened in 83, he got blamed along with his Brit counterpart for not seeing it coming. They scapegoated them from what I could gather-- it was the CIA spooks who should have known, but their two highest ups in that area got blown up in the bombing, and CIA was determined not to let it fall on them that two of their own died because of their own mistake. Gave him a dishonorable discharge, took away his pension and benefits though he'd been in since 'Nam, made it essentially impossible for him to get a job under his own name. So he took the skills they'd given him, and made his own way."

You'd looked up, given me a wave as I came in, and from what I could see when I made my way over to you two, you were accessing the FBI database and running what we knew on Doolan. "Bones, how'd you get in to the database?"

"SteelersPhilliesPiratesEagles, Booth?" you said, shooting me a smirk. "You've got to be kidding me. Way worse than Jupiter."

"Punk."

"Lax security password holder."

"Smartass."

"Predictable warmongering spectacle watcher."

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

"So, anyway," said Sid, rolling his eyes as I kissed you seven steamboats hello, "Doolan. He's going to be hard to find. Man knows the whole deal-- even hooks his clients up with plastic surgeons. I've got no doubt he could forge military papers six ways to Sunday, and these papers? They're perfect. Look exactly like Doolan's work. To give him some credit, the guy hasn't ever given new papers to someone who seemed obviously sketchy, but he's got customers all over the world, and he's a busy man."

"What name does he go by?" I asked.

Sid shook his head. "Hard to know. He's had a new nose three times, that I know of, and four chins done, and last I knew he'd had cheeks done, too. Changes names and appearances like an old con man. By the time anyone I ever knew got wind of him, he was already gone, and on to the next identity."

As Sid said "_just like an old con man_," I stilled from where I was standing behind you, rubbing your neck, just as you turned to look at me over your shoulder. "Are you going to call him, or should I?" you said, as Sid looked on curiously.

"I'll do it," I said. I picked up the phone and dialed, hoping he'd pick up the phone. At least he'd let you pay for a cell phone once you got sick, so we could reach him better.

"Son," he said, picking up. "Never again. What can I do for you?"

"Max, your promise. It's time to pay up. I need you to tell me where Kevin Doolan is." There was silence on the other end of the line, and then he chuckled, a dry, wry, pained sound.

"He passed papers to whoever took a shot at my Pumpkin and your boy?"

"We think so."

"I'll be there in an hour or so. But I can only tell you what he looked like the three times I met him, plus whatever I know. I don't know what happened to him after that. Tell Tempe not to wait up. She's not going to want to hear it."

Well, I know you better than your Dad, in the end. "I'll let Bones be the judge of that. See you when you get here."

"Alright. See you then." He sounded tired. Not surprising. He finally gets a bit clear of things, and I drag him back in. But he owes you, and I intend to make him pay. Not that I think he wouldn't. Whatever loyalty he has to Doolan for helping him out in the past came a far, far, second to protecting his family. I had no qualms about taking shameless advantage-- there's no room for shame when you're protecting your family. I told you what he'd said, you sent an email, and we got back to work. That's what we do.

- - - -

We were working on Sid's beef carbonade with egg noodles and green beans almondine with the dark Belgian craft beer Sid somehow rustled up, though I've never seen it in stores around here, when your dad arrived. "Mmmph, Sid, best beef stew of my life," I mumbled, as I got up to answer the door. I checked the peephole just to make sure, and your dad, Bones? He looked spooked. As if things weren't bad enough.

I opened the door, and he slipped inside, a duffel in hand and not looking over his shoulder-- he didn't need to, I was.

"Where'd you park?" I asked. I didn't see his truck, and I wondered exactly how spooked he was.

"Three blocks over." So-- he was only moderately spooked. He'd have parked at least five blocks away if he was really afraid.

I locked up and he made his way over to you. "Hi, Pumpkin," he said, dropping a kiss on your head as Sid plated up some stew for him.

"Hi, Daddy," you said, shooting him a serious look even as he and Sid shook hands. "Maxwell," Sid said. "Sidney," your dad replied. Shit. What's with you Brennans getting away with calling Sid by his full name? He gave me his own patented death glare the one time I tried it.

"Have a seat, Max," I said, coming back over to stand next to you and finish my supper. Your dad took a long swallow of his beer and a few bites of his food before starting to talk-- to you, not me. That's the right way to do it. I'm sure as hell not his confessor-- Caroline's going to kill us both when she finds out how deep your dad's gotten involved in this case.

"I met Doolan three times. The first time, when we moved you kids from Indianapolis. He even clued me in on the job as a science teacher in Chicago and put a word in for your mother at the first place she started bookkeeping. New papers, everything. He thought you kids were adorable, you in particular, the few times he came over the house to drop things off, collect information. Second time was after we had to leave you two. We caught up with him in Des Moines, and he did what he could, new papers, even helped steal by wire transfer some money from the personal accounts from those crooked mortgage company scumbags your mother testified against." He smiled at the memory, a wry and pained grimace. "The third time was after your mother died." He paused, swallowed, his expression shifting. "He'd gotten hooked up with one of those surgeon friends of his between the first and the second time, looked totally different. Christine and I turned down his offer-- maybe we should have taken him up on it, McVicker might never have found us. I don't know." He shook his head, regretful. You were quiet, just giving him that look you give witnesses-- the one that says "_I'm not jumping to conclusions, and there's still more information to get from you._" I hated that you were giving your dad, of all people, that look, but at the same time, you'd never really called him on the carpet, and if now wasn't the time, it never would be.

He stopped for a moment, and had some more food, chewing thoughtfully as some sad and guilty memory, probably about your Mom, washed over his face. I have no doubt he loved your Mom as much as I love you, and that he woke up every day knowing it was, in some ways, his fault she was gone. That there was more he could have done. There was a knock on the door, then, so I let Jack and Angela in-- you'd emailed her to come make a sketch or three, and to bring along her laptop with that new program you'd used for Cousins. She set up as Sid started to plate up more food for our little family, though Jack started to say, "We already..."

Sid snorted at him. "Don't make me remind you about the seven organ soup. You kids have just a little."

Your dad had another bite or three, and started back in again. "Well, he looked like a third guy the last time I saw him. Got me new papers again, membership in the carpenter's union, hooked me up with the guy who changed things around a bit for me. He was in Columbus, that time."

"Why's he like the midwest so much?" I asked.

Sid chimed in. "He's from Cleveland. Always stays within a day or two's driving distance. His Mom was still alive, last time I checked. Think he sends money home, though he doesn't visit, as far as anyone knows."

"How do you get in touch with him, Max?"

Your dad shook his head. "You don't-- he gets in touch with you, if he's interested. You put the word out that you're looking, and why, and if he decides it's a challenge, or that you have a good reason, he finds you and calls you. But you have to go to him, or meet him halfway. I'll put the word out, but I can't guarantee he'll get back in touch. Though he did your mother and I those favors the second and third times because he was worried about you kids. He never had any-- said he couldn't get a wife or kids involved, the way he moved around. I can ask, but he'll check into it. He'll know Booth's FBI. He may not do it."

Sid followed up with some technical questions about how and where Doolan got papers, and details about the ones he'd gotten Max, the timelines he worked on-- professional details I wasn't much concerned about, since Sid was in for the long haul and could account for the information when it was all over, and we had to write this beast up. Angela and Jack listened on, neither showing surprise as your Dad told his story. Of course, working with us all this time, there's not a lot that fazes any of you squints that much longer. although some of the stuff we've seen would curl the hair of Agents who think they're tough as nails. You squints are a tough bunch.

"Alright," Angela said, when your Dad was done talking shop with Sid. "Tell me what he looked like each time. Everything you remember."

Your dad started in, and he was right. The guy did look totally different in the three sketches she drew from Max's information, as he said, "You're good. Glad you weren't chasing me." Angela started loading in the parameters to the program right there. Meanwhile, you'd been watching your dad, no judgment one way or the other on the face. You were still collecting data, considering all the evidence before deciding how it all fit together, what conclusions could be reasonably drawn. He'd been flicking you glances as he spoke, disconcerted to be on the end of that stare of yours. Whatever. He knew better than to not spill everything he knew.

You looked at him a long moment, then said, "Tell me more about him. Any old scars? How did he move? Was he slow? Did he have a limp? How tall is he? What's his weight range? Is his posture crooked or straight?" You bombarded him with rapid-fire questions, and he answered, keeping track of them all. Your Dad's savvy. He'd have to be, to pick up the skills for all the different jobs he's had. He's not an obvious intellectual, like you are, but you got it from somewhere, and he was part of it. Angela, meanwhile, entered that data, too.

I went over and helped Sid clean up. As usual, he'd made just enough food, though there were a few green beans left in the pot to snag when I grabbed it to wash it. Jack, equally useless while you ladies pumped your Dad for info, came over and dried the dishes I was washing. "Dude. We're totally whipped," he said, shooting me a leer.

"Whipped, Jack? You and Ange must play kinky. I merely do everything Bones tells me to," I retorted.

Sid just snorted. "Seeley. Face it. You're whipped. Metaphorically. I don't want to know about the rest, much as T.'s a fine looking lady."

You guys finished talking, and Ange said, "That'll take twenty minutes to run. Sid, is there more beer?"

He shook his head. "No, but there's a Sauternes and some creme brulee with orange flower water T. and I whipped up when we first got home."

"Creme brulee?" I asked. Really, Bones. We're opening a restaurant when we retire. I'll give people the Evil Booth Glare at the front of the house when they complain about the tables I sit them at, and you can just make four or five variations on mac and cheese, and a mile-long menu of puddings. And maybe some pie. But mostly, pudding. Because creme brulee custard? Pudding. With a hard candy shell. Which might even be better than straight pudding. I don't know. I'll have to taste test.

Your Dad had dessert with us, and we worked on the dessert wine (it was nice, but really sweet, and not something I'd drink except Sid told me to) while we waited for Ange's data to render. Max stepped into Parker's bedroom, after, saying "I'm going to start on my calls."

I was waiting for him in the hall when he came out. "You bring a change of clothes, Max?" I hadn't missed the duffel he'd left inside the door.

"Yeah. Figured I'd save myself the trip of coming back up here tomorrow."

"Well, take Parker's room, if you want. If you don't mind fire engine sheets."

He smiled. "I was hoping for trains." I thought a little more, then decided. If he was in, he was all in, and he'd already helped with the saw.

"I want you to come in with me early tomorrow," I said. "We've got a journeyman carpenter coming in. I want you on the other side of the mirror, make sure she's not playing us."

He nodded, then snorted. "Am I an official Bureau consultant, now?"

"Strange bedfellows, Max. Strange bedfellows."

"You're not kidding," he said, looking over at you huddled over Angela's computer, holding onto the counter for balance, a fierce look on your face. "Just like her mother."

Just then, the data finished, and you looked up. "Got him." You and Angela smiled, and Ange's smile? Almost as feral as yours. She'd been literally shaking with rage when she found out about the near miss with Parker. "Yep. Just like her mother," your father muttered again. "They'd better stay out of her way."

- - - -

We got in earlier than usual that morning, because that carpenter was coming in right at eight. Your dad hung out in the lab while we went outside. I don't ever mean to make light of each therapy morning's small miracle of making it through another day if I don't write about it here. Sometimes, it's still a bit much to believe. I don't want to take it for granted. I'll take whatever the universe gives us. This morning, the breeze smelled like the ocean in the middle of July. Warm, salty, and far from where we were, right then. Maybe we'll take a vacation, when this is over.

- - - -

Max, Angela and I headed over to the Hoover. Angela insisted on coming with us, on the off chance that the informant, Cindy, might be useful, and willing to give physical descriptions. Sam and I took turns as your Dad fed us questions about what kind of work she did, and she freely admitted there'd been a new foreman in the subcontractor business the Fratellis ran. She knew it was all mobbed up, "but I needed the job, and they actually didn't cut that many corners. Not a lot of places will hire a woman, much less one who hasn't got her Master's yet." The new foreman was named "Robert Brothers." Christ, they were ballsy. But she broke faster than any of us thought she would, after we told her what we knew about the Romanos, and your Dad had us ask her about the steel cutting saw blade trick. She turned pale. "He... I use that trick all the time, we had some ebony I was cutting for this ridiculous staircase someone wanted us to build for a McMansion in Alexandria. Said he'd never seen it before. I... I showed it to him. He used it on people? On Vinny?"

Vinny Fratelli was one of the younger sons, one who seemed only involved in the subcontractor business-- he hadn't gone the Michael Corleone route yet. Rumor had it she and Vinny were more than just friends, and her next words confirmed it. "That motherfucker. He hit on me once, but backed off when Vinny told him we were dating. I... I mean, I knew they were mob, but Vinny was different. He liked my daughter. Brought her Barbies and storybooks."

I asked her if she'd ever seen the old man, but she shook her head, no. "Robert said he lived with his dad and his brother, but I never met them, never saw their pictures. I'm sorry."

She agreed to give us a description, and Sam offered her witness protection. She refused it. "I've got to work." Cindy stayed stubborn, even after she gave Ange what she needed for her drawing and data inputs, and we told her what happened to the Fratellis. She refused again. "I've got to work, just got a new job. I'll bring Linda to stay with my family, but I can't." Sam even went so far as to offer her informant pay, just to keep her off the radar, but she got indignant. "I could never accept money for telling the truth. You just get that asshole. Vinny was a good man, no matter what the family business was." I shot a look at the mirror, hoping your dad would try to convince her out in the hall, while Angela finished up her sketch.

"I'll run this this afternoon, see what I come up with. I'll call you if I find anything." She cocked her head, then, and looked at me and Sam. "We know they're actually doing construction. Once I have this build down, we'll have mass recognition for the two sons. Have you thought about ordering security tapes from the local construction and home goods stores? I can run them against the program, see what we come up with."

I shook my head, as Sam did, too. "It's going to be the Federal Bureau of Squints before much longer, Booth. We'll all be out of a job with your brain trust here."

Angela burbled a laugh, smiling at Sam. "Hardly. I'm not interested in firing a gun. I leave that to Brennan. And Booth."

"Thanks for giving me some credit there, Angela," I grumbled, but she just laughed at me again before your Dad and she went back the lab.

You know, I was talking with the guys at the wedding, and cracking jokes with Daniel about cops and robbers stuff, and Steven started to get kind of offended. It made me realizw that to people who don't see it all the time, who don't deal with evil and indifference every day, it must seem callous, the way we make sarcastic cracks and talk about frivolous things in the middle of dead-serious investigations. But they don't understand. Unless there's some way to verbally banter,to talk about something other than the death we stare in the face every day, we'd be too depressed, too despairing, to get anything done. It's not just a coping skill-- it's the only way to get through, because if we couldn't laugh, all we'd do is cry all the time. We've been trying harder to laugh these last few weeks than ever before.

------------------

Ange's a genius. By mid-afternoon after you and your dad went to chemo, she had the program up and running for Rocco and Anthony, and I'd contacted Caroline about subpoenas for local construction supply store security tapes. "Who came up with that idea, Booth? Jimmy Hoffa? Russ Brennan? Al Capone? Someone else my boss is going to kill me on when he finds out Max is helping you out? You get me fired again, Cherie, and you and your lovely wife better find me a new job, and one that pays better, at that."

"Relax, Caroline. It was Angela." There was an audible sigh at the other end of the line.

"Fine. I'll call you as soon as I get them."

I thought for a moment. "You know what? Call Paul Rodgers, he can take care of getting them served, and follow up for the films and get them to Angela."

"Cherie? Are you delegating?"

"Getting old, Caroline."

"Sounds more like keeping your eye on the ball. You tell your wife hello for me, and that I just emailed her that spoonbread recipe."

"Thanks, Caroline." Mmm. Bones. Spoonbread.

-------------------

I checked in with the stakeout team at the commercial building/warehouse where we thought the Romanos were working out of. Arthur took the call. "Seeley, nothing but other goons coming in and out. Typical mob types, but we haven't seen anyone matching the descriptions we've got."

"How many?"

"One or two at a time, every few hours, coming and going. No one seems to be staying long. There's been six, total. No one the last two hours. Sully and Nick will be here in forty minutes, I'll give them the low down."

"Thanks. I heard Evan woke up today?"

"He did. About 7:30 this morning. It was weird. Told Dean and Mel he smelled the ocean, like he was on summer vacation, right before he woke up. But he's great, considering. Pissed as all hell and raring to get out of bed. It'll be another week though, with that nicked artery." I managed to keep the chill running up my spine from infecting my voice, since the clock read 7:34 when we got into the garden this morning. Bones, I don't know what this means, but I'll take it.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You didn't seem any worse when I got home with a bag of carbonara, that vegetable antipasto you like, some chicken asparagus and pesto, and what Annamaria said was blood orange granita "For your _caramia_. Mr. Charles called to say she was ill with a cold." _Caramia_, beloved. That's right.

Your dad didn't want to stay for dinner, just long enough to bring me up to speed. "I heard word back that the message had gotten to him, that he'd think about it. I don't know how long he'll take to get back. If I hear anything, I'll call whichever one of you I can reach."

"Are you going to Maureen's?" you asked, curiously. He sometimes went out to dinner with her after I got home from work.

He shook his head. "Not until this is over. And... much as I hate to suggest it, it might not do to go Christmas tree hunting until this is over, if it's over before then."

You nodded. "I'd thought of that. There's no sense in having Russ and Amy and their girls seen with us if it will put them at risk. It's too bad. It would have been fun." You shook your head once, sadly, then said, "Well, be careful, Daddy. Will you be at O'Reilly's this weekend?"

"Sure will. Friday and Saturday night. I finally managed to convince him that he can close on Sundays, that D.C.'s finest don't need a hangover first thing Monday morning, and that their spouses might appreciate having them home for dinner one night a week. We'll see how they take it when he posts the new hours."

I laughed as I saw him to the door. "Max Keenan, man of all seasons: bank robber, family man, vigilante, science teacher, carpenter, bartender, champion of little old leprechauns."

He charm smiled me back. It is almost as good as mine. "It's nice to have a family again, even if they are strange bedfellows. Good night, son. Never again, boy."

"Never have, never will. Talk to you soon."

Your eyes were still a little glittery with fever and you looked tired and red-eyed and red-nosed. My poor Bones. Just enough of a cold to make you feel utterly miserable on top of already being off balance, but you were plugging through anyway, and seemed like you were in a good mood despite feeling lousy. You'd pulled all the food out and already started in on it when I got back.

"Thanks for waiting, Bones," I cracked, then dug out that half open bottle of white in the fridge from last week and the red you served Mel when everyone was over working on ID'ing Anthony Cousins. "Pinot grigio or cabernet sauvignon?"

You smiled at me. "Seeley Booth, sommelier. White, please."

I poured myself some of the cab, took a bit off that eggplant antipasto stuff, and replied. "Your own fault, Bones. I stuck to beer or Jim Bean most of the time, but you and your wine with takeout. Your fancy-pants boozing rubbed off on me."

You paused, fork halfway to your mouth, to smirk. "That's not the only thing I'd like to rub off on you."

Oof. Okay. Time to finish this carbonara in record time.

----------------

"Bones, eat your granita. It's got vitamin C."

You shook your head, your eyes twinkling, as you took the container out of the freezer. "I don't want my granita in a bowl." You shot me a look and trailed off to the bedroom, container and spoon in hand.

Okay, fine. Granita on Booth it is. The things I do for you, woman. Well, it's probably less messy than pudding.

------------------

"Bones! That's so cold!"

"Quit complaining," you murmured. "I'll warm you up after, I promise."

You sure as hell did.

-------------------

Some Army Ranger you are. One scoop of blood orange granita on your stomach and you yelp like a puppy. Don't worry, Booth, I'll make it worth your while. Right after I have an orange popsicle. See, there you go, yelping again.

- - - - - - -

"Bones, I'm all sticky, and so are the sheets." You really do whine a lot, you know that? I mean, I love you, dearly, but most men wouldn't complain about the condition the sheets were in after what I just did to you.

"So, go make a bath and I'll strip the sheets from the bed. You can make it back up when we're done."

"You going to join me?"

"Of course."

"Excellent."

Excellent? Hmm. I have a feeling you're going to get me back. I'd better get these sheets off the bed, pretty quickly, and see what I can do about re-making the bed while you fill up the tub. I have a feeling we're not going to have time to remake the bed after our bath.

- - - - - - - - -

You'd been making a fair amount of noise in the bathroom over the sound of the water running into the tub and I wondered what you were doing. My dad had gotten everything set up in there so I could get in and out on my own, but maybe you were moving it around so it wouldn't get sloshed? I don't know. I was rather proud of myself for actually getting everything onto the bed without getting dizzy, even though it took me a bit. You came back out, naked, and yes, rather sticky-looking, to find out what took me so long, just as I was stuffing the last pillow into the pillow case.

"Not too dizzy, huh?" you said, coming around to stand behind me and hug me.

"Well, yes and no. Just getting used to working around it, I guess. I miss driving, though." I'd tried it a few times, but even though my physical reflexes are intact, the more moderate motions of turning around to back up and getting in and out of the car make me too dizzy to do on my own. I hate having to be chauffered around.

"I know, baby," you said, kissing the join of my neck. "Come on, I'll wash your back."

Now that I've gotten used to using my Dad's new contraption, you've gone back to lifting me in and out of the tub. I couldn't really complain-- we both know it means I'm still here.

You'd quieted down by the time we settled into the tub, and were actually washing my back, rather than immediately flooding the bathroom floor. Not that I mind, mind you.

"I got an email from Carol Grant's dad today."

"David?"

"Mmm-hmm. Andy's first birthday is the second week of January, they're going to have a small family party and they want us to come. I said yes, if we weren't out on a case."

"Good. How's Andy doing, did he say?"

"Andy's good. Standing for a bit at a time now, and the vitamin D deficiency is completely under control now. No more seizures or other symptoms, and apparently the leg bowing is straightening, too. And Jimmy just found a teaching job the next county over."

"That's awesome, Bones. Did Carol ever get back to you about a quote on the house?"

"She said she's halfway done. She's going to be up here at the end of next week to meet with Sid and his cousin about renovations to the diner, so I asked her to come by and take a look. Alan said the papers will be passed on the upstairs either tomorrow or Friday."

"Do we have to go to the closing?"

I shook my head. "No, he can take care of all of that, and bring the deed by for us to sign it. I was thinking... until we get the construction done, we could either stay at my place, or stay with Jack and Angela. I expect most of the time it won't be too bad, but if they put in the staircase we're talking about, it's going to be noisy down here."

You thought for a bit. I didn't blame you. My apartment isn't really set up for children, though it wouldn't take too much work to child-proof it. I could put all the ceremonial weapons in storage, change the guest room into a room for Parker, and return the more delicate display pieces to the museum. Although the glass-topped dining room table could be a problem. "Well," you said, thinking, "let's burn that bridge when we get to it. I mean, your Dad and Russ and the girls stay there enough that it would be worth holding on to, even after, so they're not all packed under one roof here. I mean, we'll have the extra bedrooms, but if they're staying a bit, like, say, for Hailey, then it would be nice for them to have someplace of their own, to get a break, while they're visiting."

"True. I hadn't thought of that. Well- it will be January before we have time to do any planning anyway, so let's not worry about it aside from having Carol come over to look at the place. We'll have the keys, and she can have the run of it."

"What did she say about using your Dad?"

"She was fine with it. I guess he'd done some work on competitors' projects. She said as long as he comes in as a consulting contractor that we pay directly, rather than as an employee to her, their union guys won't put up a stink."

You thought some more. "Well, he does a nice job, but I don't want to make trouble for Carol, either, and at least he's got Billy to take care of."

I laid back against you, thinking some more about the rest of the email I'd gotten from David, before I formulated what I wanted to say. "David said that those message board posts I put up on the local ACS chapter website have proven very popular."

"The ones about how to keep working while treating?"

"Mmm-hmm. He said the national chapter put a link on its front page to the discussion board, and they're getting a few thousand hits every day."

"Has it still stayed anonymous?"

"It has." I'd been emailing with David about his own illness and treatment when I was feeling blue right after we found out I had to do this second round of chemo, and he was encouraging without sounding like a trite Hallmark card. We both know I don't have time to go to a support group, and in any event, if I went, someone was bound to decide that it was worth gossiping to the press-- the last thing either one of us needs. He'd pointed me to one of the local chapter's online support groups, and they allow you to choose your online handle, so it could be any name I chose. We already discussed how it's been helpful-- not that I necessarily feel better about the whole thing, but getting a wider perspective and confirmation from other people that being so frustrated and angry at all the little things I can't do right now is not abnormal. For once, I'm normal. But anyway-- I'd sort of ended up being one of the moderators on the D.C. area board just because a lot of people seemed to agree with what I'd written, and then a few people were talking about everyday coping skills with just the physical limitations, so I've been doing a series of posts just about my own experiences. Not that they're as helpful as they could be-- I mean, I have money to burn and an employer willing to go to great lengths to acommodate me, but at least if it gives people the idea of asking their employers to make some acommodation, than that could be helpful.

"So... you're thinking pretty loud there, Bones. What's up?"

"David said they're having a fundraiser at the end of January, and some of the committee members suspect that I'm who my handle is on the boards. They know David knows who I am, and they asked if I'd speak, or at least attend, or maybe just do a preview of the book I just finished. They get a lot of money from the local chapter, and have gotten more since that news story, but they want to start a hospice care program with financial assistance to families, and they think that if they advertised that I was speaking, they would sell far more tickets and get far more donations."

You smoothed some hair back from my forehead to lay a kiss on my temple. "Do you want to do it?"

"I don't know. I'd have to commit soon, though, so they could do promotional materials. It's not really a question of wanting to do it."

"Bones, you don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. They've already got a lot more donations this year, I'm sure, just because you have obsessed readers."

"Their fundraiser tickets cost $250.00 a person. They think they could charge $500.00 if I agreed to do it. Plus, they think a lot more deep pockets would attend, just to meet some poor, cancer stricken celebrity. It's the morbid value, I suppose. Meet the brave Temperance Brennan just in case she doesn't make it." That sounded more bitter than I wanted it to. I do understand the value of leveraging celebrity for good causes, I just think it's disgusting that some people would only attend this for the chance to say they'd seen me how ever many days, weeks, months, whatever before things stopped working.

"So don't do it. Except... you'd feel terrible not doing it, more than you'd be creeped out by doing itl, if it deprived them of the chance to make some serious money." Of course. You know me too well.

"Something like that. People are pretty disgusting." I sighed, and you pulled your arms tighter around me.

"Well, it's true, unfortunately. But think of it this way. You'd be parting disgusting people from their ill-earned money for a good cause. When do you have to let them know, one way or the other?"

"The end of next week."

"You've got time, then."

"I certainly hope so. I'd hate to commit and then die out from under them. Although it would be awkward for people to ask for a refund." It was a horrible, bitter attempt at a joke, I know, and I'm sorry that I was spoiling what was shaping up to be a nice, silly, sex-filled evening. You know I get grim when I'm tired.

You pulled me up and around, so I was straddling and looking at you, your eyes dark and determined. "Well, then tell them you'll do it. You're too damned stubborn and punctual to ever miss an appointment."

"Okay," I agreed, then let you pull me down to lie on your chest, your arms circling my back. "I'm going to wait until next week to say yes, though. I... don't want to commit to anything more than closing this case right now."

"That sounds right," you said, your voice in my ear as I laid my head, eyes closed, on your chest, while you stroked your fingers through my hair. I hate this case. I feel like it's not just a drag on the team, the Bureau, and the lab. I starting to superstitously believe that it's a drag on me, too. I feel like I won't get better until it is over-- not in the sense of being stressed out, or tired from the hours needed to solve it-- but as if until it's solved, I'll just keep getting sicker. It's like a drain on my soul, if such things exist. And aside from everything else, I want it to be over before they take more shots at the people we care about. I have a feeling this case isn't going to end in arrests and confessions, though. It's going to be raids, and swat teams, and bullets. It is not going to be pretty, to say the least.

- - - - - - -

Paul Rodgers dropped by Angela's office mid-morning the next day with the security tapes from the largest of the area construction supplies stores, and seemed surprised to see me camped out on Angela's couch with my laptop and mountain of blankets. I'm always cold, these days. I hate that too.

"Hello, Paul," I greeted, as he handed you the tapes. "How's Seeley treating you? Do you miss the tech team already?"

He smiled weakly as he turned to look at me, doing a pretty good job of hiding his surprise. I suppose it says nothing good that I've mostly gotten used to the looks of surprise on the faces of people who haven't seen me in a while, and I don't think I've seen Paul since the wedding, so he wouldn't have known that I look like a scarecrow these days.

"Oh, no, Dr. Brennan. This is much more interesting, and Agent Sullivan's been taking me out in the field. It's been great."

I smiled back. Paul was always the best of your tech agents, besides Geier, who wants to stay on the team and will probably head Tech before too much longer anyway, and I knew he was bored. I was glad you brought him in, and glad to hear from the horse's ear (horse's mouth, Bones) that he was enjoying himself. "Yes. Sully mentioned you had fun making that apprehension on Henry Clifford's case."

He smiled in recollection. "Yeah, got a couple of good punches in, too." He shook himself then, as Angela smirked.

"Paul," she laughed, as he tried to look serious. "It's okay. All you G-Men enjoy beating up suspects. Just a little."

He shook his head, trying to deny it, then changed the subject to discuss when we might next expect the rest of the films. "I've got Marshals delivering the ones to the more far flung places, and they'll come back to the Hoover with the films. I'll bring them over, or maybe Lance Sweets?"

I nodded. "Either would be fine. I know Seeley has you doing a fair amount of desk investigation, but if you feel the need to stretch your legs, do come over. Someone will be here."

He nodded, then smiled more genuinely. He's a nice young man. (Listen to me. He's probably Sweets' age, but I'm talking like a grandmother.) "Sure, Dr. Brennan. I've got to run back, though, so I'll call if there's anything else on its way over."

Angela, who'd already started running the films side by side, murmured, distracted, "You get anything more on those fuckers just by showing the drawings around?"

Paul started at Angela's language, but answered. "Not at the one I visited, but I've given copies to all of the marshals, and they've instructions to show them around while they wait for the tapes."

"Good," she said, typing something onto the screen. "You get whoever ID's them over to the Hoover, and I'll pick their brains some more."

Paul wasn't used to Angela being so assertive, but she's as frustrated as I am, and she loves Parker, too. I nodded at Paul so he'd know I agreed, and to run it by you, but I was already certain you'd agree. "Thanks, Paul," I said, letting him go so he could get back to running the investigation points Jack's accountant friend pointed us to. So far, the Bureau's forensic accountant, who'd been over the same data, said there was "nothing significant" about the records. You and Sam decided it was better to leave him in and let him think that we thought those avenues were dead ends, rather than take him off the team and communicate to the Romanos that we suspected they'd infiltrated the financial division of the Bureau. Sam had authorized Jack's accountant to run an outside audit on all Hoover employees once this was over, too. He was determined to root out this poison root, stock, and branch, furious in his own way that the Romanos had continued to infiltrate the Bureau even after he thought the poison of Kenton had been drawn out.

I confirmed Angela's inputs and then worked some more on the chapter edits to the new book Karen had asked for. At "snacktime," we all broke for apples and cheese, Cam and everyone else coming in for 20 minutes of coffee or cider along with our snacks. Clark's parents sent up a few gallons right after Thanksgiving when they found out it was popular, and I think he may have told them I couldn't drink coffee right now because it upset my stomach so much, so now we seemed to have a constant supply. We're lucky. Clark was working on a lab-only consultation for the NSA, so we discussed that a bit, and then I went out to the platform to take a look at his preliminary findings. He was right, but I pontificated a bit for Anne's sake, since she's still learning and Clark needs to learn to better verbally articulate his findings for grand jury and jury proceedings, then let him walk me down the stairs and back to Angela's office. He's almost as good as Jack at pretending like I'm doing him a favor by letting him walk me around.

I took a short nap, and was just waking up when you came by with lunch. I was a bit surprised to see you-- I sort of expected Sid again. "You're not on stakeout with Sully?"

You shook your head. "Nah. Sam put the fear of God into Internal this morning and wanted to get out of the building before he ripped someone else's head off. He kicked me out, said he'd call if anything came up. Anything new, Angela?" you asked, turning to her as she stared at her computer, seemingly willing it to produce a result.

"Not yet," she said. "I'm hoping you'll have some more films, soon. I backed up the server and added some memory just for this program, so it should run faster than it was-- maybe fifteen minutes, now, instead of half an hour." I nodded my head. The vagaries of why certain logarithms, but not others, take so long to load is more Angela's province than mine.

"Well, Sid sent over lunch for everyone, hold on," you said, setting the bag down on Angela's table.

"Kids! Come and get it!" you bellowed, earning a "Cool! Dad brought lunch!" from Clark. And you call me a punk.

- - - - - - - -

Therapy was fine, though you were concerned because I hadn't put any more weight on. I'm not surprised-- I just haven't been as hungry as I could be with this cold. As long as I didn't lose any weight, I'm content. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I heard you talking in a hushed voice with someone out in the hall. Delia'd just made sure that we had a private room for as long as this went on, since she knew, even as she was disgusted with me for not taking a break, that I and whomever was with me was going to be working, making calls, and dealing with confidential documents. "I didn't think my office would turn into FBI northwest," she grumbled, as she handed each of us a key and accept a kiss on the cheek from each of us. I woke and craned my neck to look to see who you were speaking with, and saw it was Henry. "Henry Watkins, stop plotting with Seeley," I called, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

The two of you came back in, neither looking sheepish, so whatever you two were plotting had nothing to do with me. Henry, however, did look like he had something planned. We caught up a bit, he shared some details about an interesting surgery, he followed up a few more questions the pathologist had about the case study he'd asked to do after my tumore was removed, and generally filled the last hour talking about things that had nothing to do with death, or the Romanos, the mafia, or Bureau corruption. It was a nice break. Until my phone buzzed.

It was from Angela. "_Rodgers brought in all films, running them now. Jack's acct will review cc statements. Wc u or Booth when have results_." You'd decided, in the end, to ask the companies to provide credit and credit card account information for all accounts opened within the last six months, the timeframe immediately preceding the "founding" of the Romanos' front companies.

I texted back. "_At least run home on yr laptop so you can sleep_."

"_Yes, Mom_." Even Angela's getting in on it. These kids, Booth, I tell you. We get no respect.

You and Henry'd stopped talking while I tended to my phone, and when I looked up, you were waiting. "Ange has the rest of the films. Jack's accountant is going to look at the credit statements."

"Good," you said, nodding. "Henry, here, was telling me about our bad influence out in the hall."

I smiled. "Giant contagious love machine, Booth. Have you proposed yet?"

He shook his head, no. "We've talked about it, but I'm thinking of waiting until Christmas before I ask her officially. I'd like to make it special. Something romantic."

Fine. I am getting smushy-headed. It's all your fault, what I said next. "Henry, if she loves you, then it doesn't matter how or where you do it. It will be special and romantic regardless."

He perked up a little. "You think so? That takes the pressure off."

You clapped him on the back. "Hey. If Bones and I can get engaged in the ICU while she's got tubes and wires sticking out of her and I'm an emotional wreck and still have it be the most romantic day of our lives, I'm sure you can top that."

He grimaced. "I'll just settle for a yes when I ask her."

Poor Henry. I decided I'd cheer him up a little. "If it makes you feel any better, Henry, I always thought you were very handsome at all those AMA conferences." He smiled, and perked up a little, and you manage to control your mostly automatic alpha-male response to any man getting praise from me who's not on the team, and say merely, "Good thing for me and Delia Bones was already too completely in love with me to make a move, eh?" Henry smiled further. You're a good man.

------------------------

I didn't wake until you were sliding into bed behind me, the clock reading ten o'clock already. This cold is making me more tired than I've been the two weeks before when I started getting hungry again.

"Mmph. Sorry. What did I miss?"

"Nothing yet, Bones. Ange is still running those films and the financials are going to take a bit, Jack said. Go back to sleep."

I turned over, so I could lie next to you and rest my head on your chest while I looked at you. "Anything new on the stakeouts?"

You shook your head, annoyed that the case was stalling again. "No. Some of the six guys from the other day came and went earlier, but there's not much going on there in the evenings. I wish there were more exterior windows. Unless we're already inside, we don't know the layout. For all we know, they could be living there in the interior spaces."

I thought. "What are the guys visiting carrying? And do we have films or photos of them?" You looked at me, startled.

"Shit. I didn't think of that. Hold on," you said, rolling over to pull over your cell phone.

"Yeah. Nick. You guys got a camera and zoom lens?" You listened. "Look-- if you can, get films or photos. We're waiting to hear on some possibilities about IDs of Carmine and Rocco, it'll help Bones and Angela if they've got something to compare the old photos with. Great, thanks, man."

You hung up the phone, and laid it back on the nightstand. "Good thinking, Bones. Only you wake up, gears already running."

I gave you a look, then pulled up to kiss you, you infuriatingly self-deprecating man. "You're no one to shake a twig at either, you know."

You laughed, and kissed me back. "Stick, Bones, not twig. But I'm glad you think so."

"I know so," I said. "And Parker says I know everything, so I must know what I'm talking about."

You laughed again, but your expression shaded to serious. We'd talked to Rebecca about what had happened, and agreed that as much as you (and I) hated it, Parker shouldn't come over until this case was over. They'd already seen him once, but if he stayed away from us until we found the Romanos, perhaps they'd leave him alone. You hadn't talked to him about it, though, and were dreading having to explain why "the bad guys" might try to hurt him if he spent time with us. One more reason to get this case over with.

"We'll get them," you said, your voice a dark promise.

"We will," I replied, equally solemn.

I laid my head back on your chest, feeling your strong heart beat there, and listened to the murmur and rumble of the blood through its chambers, your pulse in your neck beating strongly under my fingers. You didn't say anything more, and neither did I, as we reached for each other, our hands taking time slowly re-exploring the other. We both sighed when we finally joined, our bodies moving in tandem, a slow, measured rocking eventually giving way as I lost myself to my first orgasm, your mouth sucking hard at my breast making me stiffen and cry out as you continued, speeding your motions. I cried out twice more, first as your hand fondled my clitoris between us, sending shooting fire up my spine as I flooded around you. I called out your name as we shifted so I could take you in deeper, the head of you thrusting firmly and quickly over my inner ridges until I clenched almost painfully around you, your thickness continuing to fill me until you, too, cried out and stiffened, your heat pulsing into me. You collapsed, off to the side, pulling me to you as you withdrew, your chest sealing to my back as we both panted, sweat cooling. I helped you reach for the covers, pulling them up over both of us, then nestled back into you.

"Still here," I promised, pulling your ring-clad hand up to kiss it.

"Still here," you promised, doing the same. I drifted to sleep as you said "I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

-------------------------

I think you'll agree with me, Bones, when I say that from the time we got that call at 6 am the next morning, until it was over, the next three days felt like they'd never end.


	64. Chapter 64

64

For once, you weren't sprawled right on top of me and I could actually roll over to answer my cell phone, buzzing on the side table. I gritted out "Brennan" through the wash of dizziness that hit me from rolling over too quickly.

"Pumpkin. Put me on speaker if Booth's there, will you?"

"Okay, hold on, Daddy" I said, fumbling the phone. You'd already rolled over, alert, and took it from me to hit the speaker button.

"I heard from Doolan an hour ago. He'll meet us in Baltimore at 9:30 at a cafe on the Waterfront Promenade." We could hear him shutting a door and walking down the sidewalk, then a car door opening.

"Are you on your way here?" you asked.

"Yes, I'll be there as soon as possible. No more than an hour. Tempe, be ready."

You looked over at me, alarmed. "What do you mean, Tempe? Max, you are not going to Baltimore without at least me, if not three other agents for backup."

My dad sighed over the noise of the car engine turning over. "Booth. He's willing to meet with me and Tempe, only. He can smell surveillance a mile away. He has no problem with Temperance or me coming armed, but he specifically said to tell you that the fact that the Bureau's so undermined right now makes him unwilling to agree to your coming, since someone could trace your radio signal or tail you. If he sees you, and Booth, he says he knows what you look like, then he's not going to do the meeting."

"Why Bones? Why not just you, Max?"

My father laughed an even drier, more pained laugh than the one the other night. "He said he'd know Ruth's daughter anywhere, but that he didn't trust me as far as he could throw me about what I looked like these days."

"Alright," I said, trading looks with you. "Drive safe, stay off police radar, and park at the convenience store around the corner."

"Right. What's it called again?"

"Kismet."

"Kismet it is," he said, then hung up. I certainly hope it is.

You'd gritted your teeth as my father explained that Doolan wouldn't meet with you present, and by now were likely to crack your teeth. I rolled over all the way, pushed myself up from the bed, and held out my hand to you as the muscle at the side of your jaw started jumping.

"Come on, I'll let you wash my hair." You didn't say anything as you got up to follow me into the bathroom.

- - - - - - - -

I'd just rinsed the conditioner from my hair when you wrapped your arms around my waist, dropped to your knees and rested your head against the curve of my lower back. "Don't do it," you husked, your lips moving against my skin.

I turned and answered as best I could. "Seeley, we need the information. You know it. I know it. My father knows it. He and I worked together well once before. We'll do it again."

Your eyes were black as you looked up at me. "Bones... you weren't..."

I pulled you up, and wrapped my own arms around you. "No, I wasn't. But I've dodged a bullet once this week, I can do it again if I have to."

You shuddered as I said it, but it's true. "You watch all the sightlines," you said, standing to boost me up against the wall, and sheathing yourself in me in one fluid stroke, your teeth avidly nipping at my throat.

"No sitting out in the open," I gasped, responding as I wrapped my arms around you and pulled you closer with my legs, as you withdrew and returned again, your forehead furrowed in worry and anger.

"Stay close to the buildings," you ordered, bucking into me as you lowered your head to suck at my shoulder.

I ground my hips against yours, then groaned as you thrust hard into me again, your hands gripping me so firmly there was no way you could falter, no way you could drop me. "Avoid walking in straight lines," I managed, the words coming out in short bursts as I writhed against you, your fear and mine pushing me close to the edge so much more quickly than usual.

"Stay," you pled, withdrawing and returning to me with a jerk. I knew you weren't talking about this morning's errand, so I tugged your head down, whispering, "I'm not going anywhere," against your lips before I kissed you, your mouth sealing on mine as I arched against you, my walls clenching in painful expectation. You gripped me even tighter, shifting to increase your pace, and I strained to meet you, my head falling back as I moaned with the increasing speed and force of your thrusts. "Seeley," I whined, then exploded suddenly, my release seizing me so forcefully I literally saw stars. You roared "Temperance" with your own release, the hot wash of you willing me to stay. I'm not planning on going anywhere.

- - - - - -

You were still getting dressed in the bedroom when your father arrived at the door. I let him in, poured him a coffee, and poured myself a second cup. He was silent and grim as he came in, taking in everything in the room as he always does. I just nodded and went down the hall to get you, then followed you out. You pulled me down for a kiss, then grabbed your things from beside the door and made to leave. I saw you both out, exchanged my usual words with your dad, then shut the door, and looked around the room, taking in what had changed.

He'd taken the .22 from under the sink, where I'd deliberately left the cabinet door open. We never leave the cabinet doors open. He knows an invitation when he sees one.

- - - - - -

I was on my way in to the office when my cell rang and I looked at the ID.

"Becs, what is it?" There was a long shuddered breath on the other end of the line.

"My Mom had a heart attack, Seeley, I've got to go to Portland."

"Becs, I'm so sorry. Is she okay?"

"They're doing a quadruple bypass today. I've got a flight in two hours." The only reason she would be calling me, then, was because she wasn't planning on taking Parker. On any other occasion, I would be overjoyed to have him. Now, the hair on the back of my neck just crawled.

"Becs. Tell me you're taking him, or that Brent is keeping him."

She sobbed, her voice stuttering. "Brent's traveling for work, he's in Germany. I... I can't bring him with me, Seeley... he's too little. I know we agreed, but... you've always protected him, Temperance, too. He'll be fine."

My heart seized. I wanted to beg her to take him with her, but I couldn't very well do that to her. "Does Rosie have him this afternoon?"

"Until six."

"Alright. Does he know yet?"

She sobbed again. "No."

"Okay. I'll give Rosie a call, make arrangements to get him, okay?" She sniffled, trying to control her breathing on the other end of the line.

"Thanks, Seeley. You two will take good care of him, I know it. I'm not worried about him at all."

"Becs, you just concentrate on thinking good thoughts for your Mom. You call whenever you need something, okay? Do you have Bones' cell number?"

She did, and we exchanged a few more details before it was time to hang up. "I'll say a prayer for your Mom, okay, Becs? Fly safe."

"Thanks, Seeley. Tell him I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to say goodbye, and I'll call later tonight, okay?"

"Will do. You get going, talk to you later." I hung up the phone, said a Hail Mary for her mom, and got back to work.

-----------------------

We arrived at the meeting point fifteen minutes early, as I'd hoped we would. My father's gotten the trick of helping me walk with the dizziness, so I look less like I'm ready to fall over at any instant while I'm walking with him than with some other people. He'd found nearby parking, which was fortunate, since my head was still stuffed up and I would have been winded at the walk even without the extra difficulty breathing. I was sweating by the time we reached the cafe, but there was no sign of trouble or that we were being watched during the entire walk from the car to the meeting point. We picked a table in the corner, out of the windows, with a good view of the room. My father maneuvered the table so it would be possible for the three of us to mostly sit facing the room. I'd ignored the .22 my father re-settled at his back once we got into the car. You must have left the kitchen sink cabinet doors open so he'd take it. I have no doubt he knows where every weapon in the house is, what with all the work he did on the house over Thanksgiving weekend.

We didn't talk much on the drive up or in the cafe. Honestly, I had a lot of thoughts to process about him and I just wanted to get through this without prejudging anything. Fortunately, he doesn't presume to ask me too many personal questions, or to try to get me to tell him what I'm thinking. Ever since his trial, he's stopped trying to get me to be his little girl, and has just tried to be available, if I want him.

I caught a movement outside the window, a certain tilt of the shoulder as the shadow moved across the front of the cafe. "He's here," I said, jerking my chin to the door. My father looked up at the man walking in, saying under his breath, "He looks different again."

The facial markers were different, yes, but it's impossible to change your overall body morphology, and that was what I'd been watching. Based on my father's description and what I'd cobbled together from the Intel reports Sid cadged for me, I'd put together a picture of who he was, and it was him, so far as I could tell. I met his eyes directly as he went to the counter to get himself a coffee, and he met my eyes with a look of shock and recognition. Shock, at the fact that I'd picked him out, and recognition of whatever resemblance I bear to my mother, I suppose. I nodded, once, and turned back to my herbal tea while he attended to his business.

He sat next to me, rather than my father, a small messenger bag on the shoulder facing me falling onto the floor between his chair and mine. He set his coffee cup down, looking sidelong at me. "Matthew," he said, greeting my father with the last name he'd set him up with. "You haven't changed."

My father snorted, a pained grin on his face. "Well, not since the last time you saw me, no."

Doolan turned to me then, appraisingly. "You look like your book photograph. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I picked up your book to buy for my mother and turned it over to see a younger version of Ruth on the back. I'd forgotten about your new name, didn't make the connection until I saw your photograph."

I smiled slightly. "Well, my father's fond of saying I look much as my mother did."

"You do," he said. "Same eyes as when you were three, though. Wide open, taking everything in." He shook his head, and sat back a bit, giving us the compliment of setting his back slightly to the room. "I'm getting sloppy in my old age. If I'd done my homework better on those three I'd never have given them papers. I'm terribly sorry. Really. I'm getting too old for this, and this slip-up is proof. I think I'm going to go as straight as I can after this. Maybe just do visas and green cards for war refugees for minimal cost."

I arched an eyebrow, half smiling despite myself. He seemed to mean it. I'm not a character judge like you are, but he truly seemed concerned that he'd rewritten identities for the Romanos, and truly tired of what he'd been doing. His mouth quirked as I regarded him. "May I ask who tipped me off to you and your husband?"

There was no harm, so I answered. "A friend of the family-- Sid."

He nodded. "Sid. Good Intel, great pecan pie. He almost caught me once. Tell him I said hello."

I smiled. "I will. He's opening the diner as a southern food place after Christmas." I figured if he'd had Sid's pie, he'd know about the diner.

He looked at me keenly again, then flicked another glance over at my father as he said "I was sorry to hear about Ruth." He turned to me then, and said, "Your mother loved you kids very much. She was the most intense, intelligent, and graceful woman I've had the pleasure of knowing. You remind me of her. She was distraught at leaving you."

I nodded, accepting. "Thanks."

He pushed back from the table, looked down at the bag on the floor for a fleeting second before standing, finished his coffee in a gulp, and said "Well, I'm going to get going. Joy... well, I'm sorry you got caught up in this, but I'm glad to have seen you again. Always wanted a little girl. Good luck, both of you." He turned then, tossed his cup in the trash, and was gone, almost as quickly as my father, and before I could say thank you again. He seemed tired, but almost like he was relieved, like he'd done his good deed for the day.

I leant sideways to pick up the bag by its strap, and handed it to my father. He was making ready to go when I grabbed his wrist. "Three more minutes, Daddy. If someone's watching, I want them to go after him before we leave." I was rather surprised he didn't know that. I suppose you're rubbing off on me.

We made it back to the car with no problems, and got back onto the highway as I pulled out the information Doolan gave us-- everything. Before and after photos, names, last known addresses, and what looked like some additional information he'd dug up since my father spoke with him earlier.

I got on the phone after flipping through, and dialed.

"Bones," you said, clearly on speakerphone. "I've got Nick, Sully, and Sam here. What have you got?"

"Charles Romanoff," I said. I could hear Sam cursing "ballsy motherfuckers" in the background as I continued. "Someone get a pad and paper, I've got socials and other pertinents for you." I read them off as my father drove, checking the rearview mirror intermittently even as I checked the side mirror to make sure we weren't being followed. I read you a summary of the rest of the information, and agreed to meet you and Nick at the lab so that our team and the Bureau could have all the information we needed. It was almost enough. I was sure the afternoon would yield more.

Once I finished reading you all the data, you said, "Bones, hold on a sec, will you?" I waited, and heard you switch the speaker off, then leave the room you'd been in. "Becs called me, her Mom's having a quadruple bypass today."

I knew what that meant. "What's safer? Taking him? Or leaving him with Jack and Angela, maybe having Sid stay with them?"

He paused. "You're a better shot than Sid."

"Well, then, have Rosie bring him to the lab this afternoon if you can't go get him, and I'll see you when you get there."

"Okay. See you back at the lab. You tell your father to drive safely, goddamnit."

I love you, too, Seeley.

--------------------------

You and Nick were already at the lab when my father and I walked in, you coming forward with that "_okay, fine, you didn't get shot but that doesn't mean I like you going off on your own_" look as my dad let go of my elbow.

"I'm going to get going to Billy's unless you kids need me," my father said, trading a "_do you want the .22 back now or should I hold on to it look_" with you. You nodded, and answered him obliquely.

"Nah, Max. See you later, and tell Billy we said hello. You take care." you replied. My father dropped me a peck on the cheek and a "Bye, Pumpkin" before heading back out of the lab, Nick looking on in astonishment at how fast he moves.

I headed back to my office, tired and needing to sit down, Nick heading off ahead of us and coming up short when he realized I was still trailing behind, slowing everyone down. Well, I can give you the information you need, and you can speed things up again for both of us. We made it into my office, Nick nearly bouncing with impatience, but he stilled when you shot him a glare and helped me down onto the sofa. You'd already taken the bag from me and pulled out the files, handing them over to Nick as you finished looking to them. Anne had appeared in the doorway, and I beckoned her in.

"Anne will make scans of those before you two go, Nick," I said, trying to smile at him. I haven't gotten to speak with him, much. He called you up when word spread about Freddy from Organized, and you'd taken him up on his offer, since you two worked together for almost two years, but I didn't know him from a hole in the floor (wall, Bones, not floor) and he seemed rather intimidated by me. I do wish I had the time to get to know him better-- perhaps after. Right now, there was too much else important to concentrate on.

"Well, we should really get going," he said, reluctantly.

You gave him a look. "Trust me. The squints will probably come up with three new angles on this thing before we're out of the parking lot. Anne won't be that long, right?"

She smiled, and nodded, then held her hand out to Nick for the papers. "That's right. Be back in five, Dad," she smirked, then trotted out of the room and off to the scanner.

I laughed as you shook your head. "No goddamned respect, Bones. If she wasn't keeping Sweets off our backs, I'd be tempted to ground her."

I couldn't help myself. "She keeps Sweets off our backs by keeping them on their backs. Quite often, apparently. Cam had to read them the riot act about some after-hours activities in the lounge." You're so cute when you blush. Nick, too.

-----------------------------

You two left as soon as Anne came back five minutes later, as you'd said. You'd stood, giving Nick a "_wait outside_" look as he took the papers back from Anne. He did so, reluctantly. He's rather suspicious, your Nick, but I suppose working in Narcotics on as many undercover operations as he does will do that to you.

You sat down and pulled me over to you for just a moment, and I snaked my arm behind your waist as you leant your head against mine.

"Take a nap when you can, okay?"

"Mmm-hmm. It'll be an hour before Rodgers comes along with more films." You nodded, and pulled me closer, kissing my temple. I turned and responded nonverbally, kissing you softly but firmly so you'd know I'm still here.

"Get back to catching the bad guys, Mr. Brennan," I said, pulling away and urging you up.

"You too, Mrs. Booth. Take a nap. And eat something."

You'd stood by this point, standing close enough for me to pull at your hand and lay a kiss over your ring. "I love you, too," I responded as ever, to the unspoken part of your remonstrations to take care of myself. You bent to brush your lips across mine, and then you were gone.

----------------------------------

I'd just woken up from my nap, lulled by the clicking of Angela's laptop keyboard as she sat in the chair opposite me, when I heard Clark greet Rodgers. "What have you got? Go into T.'s office, no wait..." I heard him begin.

"S'alright, Clark," I called, struggling upright. "I'm awake. But can you bring me some hot cider, please?" I called, reaching for some tissues to blow my still stuffed-up nose. I hate colds. At least my fever's down and my shoulder's alright. Paul came in and handed the video disks straight to Angela, who started feeding them into the system as I pulled myself fully upright against the arm of the sofa, and re-opened my laptop.

"How many more are we waiting on, Paul?" I asked, motioning for him to sit. He took the other chair, across from Angela, as I reached forward and brought up the server, and started loading the rest of the films in myself.

"Two more," he said. "Smaller mom and pop joints, they needed more time to copy the films and get them to us. I should be back with the rest by four at the latest."

"Thanks. Anything more on the credit records?"

He shook his head. "No, but I've got the new socials you brought in running right now, they'll be done by the time I get back." Clark reappeared then, with a hot cider and peanut butter on a rice cake for me. Paul looked askance at me, and I smiled wryly.

"Yes, it's true. The care and feeding of a forensic anthropologist requires vast amounts of peanut butter and hot apple cider."

Clark laughed as I took the cider from him. "And don't forget cheese sticks," he said, pulling some from his pocket and offering one to Paul.

"What the hell," he muttered, taking one and peeling it. "Hey," he said, chewing. "These aren't that bad."

Clark and Angela laughed at the same time. "First cheese sticks, next, scientific calculators. Welcome to the Squint side," Angela laughed.

Paul chuckled. "Maybe so, maybe no. You guys seem to be lacking single ladies these days. Kinda cuts down on the need to haul over here all the time."

"Well, you get us that data later today," I said. "I'll see if I can't come up with someone cute by the time you come back."

He smiled again, standing. "Sure thing, Dr. B. See you guys later."

----------------------

Sam went out with Sully on stakeout again, so Nick and I called Cindy to see if she would come in and ID Rocco Romano from the photos Doolan gave us. She agreed, and came over at lunch.

"That's him," she said grimly, as soon as she saw the first picture. "That cleft in the chin." She went through the rest of the photos Doolan provided, only becoming more resolute. Nick nodded, sympathetically, asking her if there was anything more she could add to what she'd already given us. She shook her head. "No, nothing more. Just get that bastard, will you, please?"

Nick and I both tried to reassure her we thought we were close, and Nick confirmed her contact information. While Nick saw Cindy out to the elevator, I called Jack's accountant to give him the new socials and financial data. He practically cackled with glee-- I've never met a bloodthirsty accountant before, but there's a first time for everything, eh, Bones? I hung up as soon as Nick came back in, and jawed over some options for the next shift on the stakeout. They'd gotten some films this morning and last night, which Rodgers was going to bring by later today, and we were trying to think of what more could be done when Caroline called my cell.

"Cherie?" She sounded grim.

"Yes, Caroline?"

"I've got a friend at the P.D. in Baltimore, she just called me. Someone carrying papers for a Kevin Doolan showed up at their morgue an hour ago, with Matthew Brennan's cell phone number in his pocket. Man's dead as a doornail, point blank to the head. That sound familiar to you?" Cold crept up my spine.

"Sounds right, unfortunately. Call Bones, she could give you an I.D." I hung up, and looked at Nick. "Gotta make a call, man. I'll meet you downstairs in a sec?" He nodded, accepting, and stepped back out of the room.

I picked up my phone and dialed again, a new weight on my shoulders.

"Son," came the voice on the other end of the line.

"Max, Doolan's dead. Tell Russ and Amy and the girls to get lost. I'll wire them some money."

"Godfuckingdamnit," he cursed. I couldn't have said it any better.

-------------------------

Doolan arrived at the lab not long after lunch; their morgue wasted no time in getting him here. Not surprising. Even police hate mafia cases. It was him, the same man I'd seen just hours ago, who'd seemed tired, and kind, and just wishing things had gone differently. He'd done what he felt he had to, under the circumstances, and now his mother had no one to care for her, all because her son had actually tried to help someone, and right an old wrong. I stood there, dictating the I.D. for the record, before Cam began her examination and the bullet extraction. He didn't look surprised, or in pain. When it came, it was unexpected, to the back of the head. At least he hadn't suffered in death. It seemed like he'd suffered in life, more than enough.

I let Jack help me down off the platform after I finished, and made my way back to my office. Closing the door, I lowered myself back into the sofa, pulled over a box of tissues, and dialed the phone.

"Tempe," came my father's voice at the end of the line. I could hear the afternoon rattle of glasses and other noises as he set up for another Friday night in O'Reilly's in the background.

"Hi, Daddy. I just called to say... I forgive you."

There was a long, ragged breath on the other end of the line. "Thanks, sweetie. You don't have to. I'd understand."

"Dad, it's okay. I want to. You stay upstairs at Billy's until Booth or I call you, though, okay?"

He paused, then agreed. "I'll ask him."

"You'll do it, or you'll stay with us. You can sleep on the couch. Parker'll be there, you can give him a pony ride."

He chuckled. "We'll see. I'd have probably stayed here anyway. But I'll call if I can't, how's that?"

"Okay. Don't let anyone frisk you, you don't have a carry."

He chuckled again. "Sweetheart, don't worry. Billy's got a shotgun under the bar. He's a man after my own heart." I was less shocked than I could be. I thought back to my Dad's crack to Cam about the "_Fae Folk protecting their own_." As much as Billy was a sweet "_little leprechaun_," as you called him, he was a proprietor, and not just of O'Reilly's. What he saw himself as possessing, he took care of.

"Strange bedfellows," I murmured instead. "Tell Billy I said hi."

"Love you, Pumpkin. And thanks."

"Love you too, Daddy. Take care."

I hung up the phone, staring at it a moment. I'd lied, just a little. I did want to forgive him, with all of my heart, and I did. But I had to, as well. Seeing Doolan laid out on that table? I didn't want any chance that my father might think, just in case, that he'd failed as much as he thought he had. He did what he could, under the circumstances. The fact that he'd failed? It didn't change that he'd tried. Many people don't. At least he'd tried.

I spoke some more with Ted Macy's brother, conferencing him with Caroline. I'd asked Caroline if I should try to conference in you or Sully or someone else from the Bureau, but she just said, "You've been working with the Bureau for how long, now? Some judge doesn't want to give me a warrant I'll rip his damned head off." So the accountant filled her in on what we had so far, and Caroline hmmmed. "Almost," she said. "But we need some link between them and the saw, or at least a construction business. That woman's ID and the fact that she taught Rocco that trick are too circumstantial, alone. I need just a little more."

I paused. "Well, Rodgers will be over soon with the rest of the films and the records, and he's sending Robin Hood the Accountant here whatever comes up on those socials Mr. Doolan gave us this morning. We'll get to work on them as soon as they get here."

Caroline made a sound of satisfaction. "Good. You've got my cell, I cancelled my plans for the weekend. We were going to go see Gladys Knight, but I figured I'd better stay close."

"Thanks, Caroline. I'll make it up to you."

She laughed. "I am sure Jenkins and I will find other ways to pass the time. But if you want to buy me new tickets, feel free."

"Anytime, Caroline," I replied, and she hung up.

"Robin Hood the Accountant," asked Ted Macy's brother.

"Well, it's better than Accountant X, or Mystery Accountant, isn't it?" He laughed as I continued. "And I've got to call you something."

"Alright. Going to go crunch this data again, you call me when you get those subpoenaed records."

"Will do. Thanks, Robin." He laughed again, then hung up.

-------------------------

Rodgers came by with the last few sets of films and credit records, as well as the results of his own data searches. He stayed for a cup of coffee as Angela and I started loading the films into the server again, and was just getting ready to leave when my karate instructor came by with those isotonic and balancing exercises I'd asked her to bring. I'd been wondering at whether there might be some small thing I could to do try to make my balance a little better, even though I can't work out at my gym, and she'd offered to try to come up with something. He watched as she sat on the couch with me, taking ten minutes to go over what each exercise was on the flow sheets she'd printed, and waiting as I stopped to load more data from each of the disks Paul had brought. By the time she was done, Paul's eyes had glazed over. I guess he likes blondes who are taller than him. (No kidding, Bones. She's what, 6'1"?)

When she got up, he sprang up too. "Can I walk you out to your car?" She looked at him appraisingly, and decided not to karate chop him for being so chivalrous. "I walked here, actually," she said, "But my dojo is on the way back to the Hoover if you want to walk with me."

I waggled my eyebrows at him as he fell in behind her, and after she'd left me office. Giant, contagious love machine, Booth. I told him I'd rustle up someone cute for him. He gave me the thumbs up as he left.

Angela waited until they cleared the door before she burst out laughing. "You're worse than I am."

I smiled. "I take that as a compliment, Ange."

----------------------

Rosie brought Parker by at six, and Sid arrived not long after bearing tomato soup and grilled cheese for everyone, along with chocolate chip cookies. There were too many of us still in the building for us to eat in my office, so I begged off, claiming a phone call, while everyone else headed upstairs. The shades were drawn, Parker would be fine with Jack and Angela, and it would be good for everyone to not talk about the case for a while. I worked on my dinner when you showed up, more surveillance photos and videos in hand.

"Parker upstairs?" you asked, coming in and sitting down next to me.

"Mmm-hmm," I said, around a spoonful of soup.

"Sid would have brought you up," you said, your forehead furrowed because I was sitting alone in my office while Parker entertained everyone else upstairs.

"He's six, Booth. He doesn't need to see me being more of an invalid than he already has. He needs what little security I can offer him."

You nodded, for once not arguing, then leant over to press a kiss on my temple. I turned to return the kiss, then gave your knee a swat. "Go upstairs, have some supper, bring me another cookie when you two are done. I'm going to finish loading these films, make sure everything's set so we can go home, okay?"

"Yes, Bones."

"Go, husband, and stop yessing me." Ah, there it is, part of that goofy smile. We'll get them, Seeley, and then you can grin like the goofball you are again.

-------------------------

I conferred briefly with Angela and Jack when you all came downstairs, the two of us agreeing to split the films and run them through the improved mass recognition programs on our computers at home against the new data Doolan had given us. Cam had extracted the bullet, earlier, and it was the same as the others. No time to dismember him, I suppose. We'll have to track down his mother. We'll hold on to him until this is over, and then we can bury him however she wants.

-------------------------

"Mmmph. Seeley?"

"That would be me."

"Time is it?"

"Ten-thirty."

"When did I..."

"In the car."

"Mmmph. Sorry." I rolled to my side, but you pulled me back to you as you got into the bed. "I called Ange, had her tell me how to set the program up. It's running on the island. Parker knows not to touch it. Go back to sleep, Temperance."

"I should..." I lost track of the thought. I was so tired, and it had been a long day.

"Bones, Ange told me how to set it to make noise when it finishes. I'll wake you up if it does, okay?"

"But..." You silenced me with a kiss, then settled me on your chest. "No more work to do tonight, not until those films finish or the accountant calls or they see something on stakeout. They'll call if they need us. Just... sleep, okay? Stay with me here, alright?" I drifted off again, your hands smoothing my hair.

At some point, I felt Parker crawl in between us, his arms curling around my waist and his chin come to rest under my head. You grumbled and turned on your side, slinging your arm over him, but you didn't wake.

"Dr. Bones?" he said, whispering more quietly than he has in the past.

"You and Daddy are going to get the bad guys, right?"

"We sure are, Parker."

"And then you'll get better, right?"

"I hope so, Parks. Get some sleep now, buddy. Love you."

He settled more firmly against me, mumbling "Love you too" as he promptly fell into sleep. I didn't like that note of uncertainty when he first asked me, Booth. We're going to get them. That's final.

-----------------

I could write about what happened next in excruciating detail, because that's what it was-- excruciating, until it was over. But I'll keep it short. You can fill it in later, if you feel the need. I don't. Thinking about it makes even more of my hairs start to turn grey.

Saturday, the computer chimed. We had a match on a tape of Rocco Romano at a construction company, using a credit card. Except the address didn't lead back to the warehouse we'd been staking out. A team sent over to the credit address came up empty-- literally. It was an empty shell of a warehouse. We had another match of Anthony Cousins later that morning, and more credit addresses, three this time. It took all afternoon to check them out, Sully and I taking one, Nick and Sam another, as Arthur and Mel still staked out the warehouse I knew in my gut had our answers-- except we still didn't have any confirmation of Rocco or Anthony coming or going.

Jack and Ange had kept you two company while I went out, and when I got home you were napping, and our little family was entertaining our boy. Mel drove by to drop off more tapes at the end of his shift, and Ange loaded them into your laptop while Jack kept Parker entertained with Candyland. There weren't any more matches, but the credit applications were enough for Caroline to make an "any and all presents" application to the judge for the warehouse. He denied it-- Caroline was pissed, practically hissing into the phone. "I wonder who's got him on the take," she muttered.

We made no more headway, and I sent Jack and Angela home, and put Parker to bed. You didn't even wake when I got in with you this time-- the week had caught up with you, and your eyes were lined with dark circles. My poor Bones. We're close. I can feel it.

Sam let himself in the next morning and called from outside the door. I untangled myself from you and Parker, who both mumbled. You ripped my heart out again, shifting Parker back into you after he rolled when I got up.

I shrugged on some sweats and came out. Sam looked exhausted, and grim, and determined. "Nothing more we could tell, though there were more guys coming and going last night. Here's the film," he said, handing me a DVD. I slid it into your laptop, set it to load, and started some coffee for all of us.

"Hold on," I grumbled, rustling into the freezer. Ah, there they were. "Bacon muffin, Sam?" I asked, holding up the bag of pre-baked, frozen muffins.

"Julia Child with a gun," he replied, a small smile cracking through.

You made your way down the hall not long after, having slipped on more of my sweats. You looked even more dwarfed in them than you usually do. "Morning, Sam," you said, letting me boost you up onto your stool. "Anything new?"

He shook his head as he worked on the muffin. "Just films. Sully and Arthur are out right now. Seeley's already running the ones I just brought," he said, jerking his head at your computer.

"He's a chimp," you said, smiling sleepily as you rubbed your head.

"Champ, Bones, not chimp. What flavor milkshake?" I asked, as I set out more butter for Sam. Three muffins in three minutes. Must have been a long night.

"Pineapple," you said, wrinkling your nose at the smell of the coffee. It's been so long since you had any. I whirred it up for you, and you took a sip, made a face, and then took another. "Yeeeugghh," you said. "Tastes nasty. Goddamned cold." My heart sank. That was the face your started making before you started throwing up again. That's not your cold.

---------------------

Ted Macy's brother called at noon, with "almost enough more" according to Caroline. "Cherie, I need you to get me a goddamned ID," Caroline barked into the phone. Parker's head snapped up at the profanity from where he was sitting watching cartoons. Damnit. I've told him not to blaspheme. I'll have to deal with that later.

Your head was in your hands as you stared at the computer. "I've still got nothing, Caroline. Sully and Arthur are off shift in two hours, and I'll run some more films. I'll call if there's a match." You sniffled as soon as you hung up, bleary-eyed.

"Bones. Take a nap, please? I'll wake you up as soon as Sully gets here, okay?" You left without a fuss. Not good.

I made more calls, and not long after Sully showed up, looking much as Sam did first thing this morning. "Nick's got next shift. Evan's got a bit of an infection, he told Mel and Dean to get over there. Sam and I will spell him at 8."

"Thanks, man," I said, sliding the disk into the computer and hitting the now ritual entry buttons to start the program running again. "Hold on, let me get Bones."

Sully was playing snap with Parks by the time you got up, bleary eyed and looking worse than before you went to lay down. It took you a bit to stand up on your own, but you were glaring, and I knew better. At least you let me re-brush your hair for you. Sully's eyes flickered a bit when you came back in, but he relaxed a bit when you started hammering him with questions. Same old brilliant brain, even as your body gets weaker.

Sully left, and you started to stare once again at the screen, switching windows, and typing, and muttering at the data to make it render faster. I set out some snacks for you two, and you turned green as you looked at it. Bright green. I scooped you up so you were over the sink as you heaved. Godfuckingdamnit. But you just ran the water, wiped your face, and reached for a paper towel. Parker, wide eyed, was looking over the couch at this silent tableau.

You smiled a watery smile at him, and said, "Come get your snack, Parker."

He did, quietly, as you set back to work, rerunning the tapes all over again. I could feel you frown behind me as I cleaned out the sink.

"Seeley?" I came back. You'd frozen the screen. "Who's that woman? And the old man? He's knew"

You zoomed in, highlighting them both. Your mass recognition program chimed. That was it. The link that we needed. Though if she wasn't dead by now, then I'd hang up my weapons. Godfuckingdamnit again.

"What tape is that?"

"Last night, Nick and Arthur."

I called Caroline, Sully, the tac team, and then turned, paralyzed, as you lurched toward the sink again and heaved once more.

"Goddamnit, Seeley, get out of here, but put on your vest before you walk out that door," you said, rinsing and wiping your mouth. "I'll call Jack and Sid right now."

You'd done it, and were saying "see you shortly," when I came back out.

"Are you going to go get the bad guys, Daddy?" asked Parker, eyes wide.

"He sure is," you said. "Go," you said, pulling me down for the fiercest kiss yet.

"I love you," I said, and then was out the door, running for the truck.

----------------------------

Nick was surprised to see us as we pulled up silently, unloading onto the sidewalk. Thank god for no exterior windows at this point. Hadn't he been listening to the radio as Amelia dispatched the tac team? I gathered the team, gave directions for front and back entries, then took point, Sully taking second. The first floor was empty, just open warehouse space, but there were interior offices up above. I don't know how to explain how quiet thirty guys in body armor with pistols and rifles can move, though I expect with your history, Bones, you'd understand. There was a light coming in under a door midway down the hall, and I crept toward it, hearing nothing but the humming of flourescents. I opened the door, cleared it, and entered, the team following behind me. The front office was empty, with signs that people were living here, not just working. Two doors down, there was another light, and humming. Some opera aria. Carmine was an opera fan.

I motioned, then cleared the door, Sully behind me. Cindy was dead on the floor, point blank to the back of the head.

The old man looked up and smiled at me, saying only "They're already dead," right before I shot his lying throat out.

Sully had already dispatched the team, running down stairs, all need for subtlety lost. He looked at me, wide eyed, as I said just one word.

"Nick."

He nodded, and started running. I sprinted, passing him, leaping over the banisters past the rest of the team still thundering down the stairs, one stair at a time. I didn't have time for that, so I took them a flight at a time, though my knees won't thank me later. Thank god for adrenaline. I made it out before they did, to see the last rat in this whole stinking cesspool talking calmly to one of the techs at the van.

I slowed as I reached him.

"Nick," I barked. He turned, the look on his face at whatever look was on my face telling me everything. He paled, his eyes widening, as I unloaded a bullet into his traitorous throat.

Sully raced up behind and past me, pulling open the back of his truck and grabbing his shotgun before jumping into my truck as I started the engine.

He was on the radio, ordering backup to the house as I drove like a man possessed. I was. He loaded the pistols under the seat and in the glovebox, then climbed into the back to grab my shotgun and more shells.

When I got back to the house, having cut the siren two blocks before, it was silent. Bucolic, even, except for the fact that the door was wide open, sagging from broken hinges.

Those last five feet as we sprinted from the truck to inside the door took forever. Like swimming through tar as the sound of bullets continued, too many to come from just one gun.

I reached the door, and stopped short at the sight.

You were crouched, a guy easily six five, three hundred pounds swinging a bat at you. Rocco. In slow motion, you swept out his feet with a sweep kick from your crouch, rolled up, and kicked him over to face you, before emptying three perfect, impossibly quick shots into him as he stared up at you. Heart to stop, throat to kill, head just to make sure. Like we'd discussed, but that you'd never had time to practice, because you got too sick to go to the range.

You looked up, then, a half-crazed look in your eye, as you dropped the gun on his chest. "You're late, Ward, to greet our guests," you said. "But you and Wally can help clean up."

And with that, you stalked back toward the bedroom, steady on your legs, stepping over the litter of bullet-strewn bodies lining the hall.

We followed.


	65. Chapter 65

65

I took in another body in the kitchen, three in the hall, and one in the bedroom as we followed you, Sully whispering "Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck" under his breath.

You were ignoring us, intent on one thing, as you stepped over the last body just inside the bedroom.

"Vertebrae, Parker!" you called, saying his safe word as you ducked into the closet, shoving the clothes out of the way. "Vertebrae, sweetheart, you can come out now."

There was the sound of wood scraping and then a small, small voice that said, "Are the bad guys all gone now?" as you answered yes and lifted him down from the hidey-hole, taking him into your arms.

You said again, soothingly, "Yes, they're all gone, Parker," as you held his head into your chest, shielding his eyes as you stepped over that body again and went into his room, sitting heavily on the bed. I shut the door most of the way, so he wouldn't see the bodies in the hall. You were starting to shake, almost infinitesimally, so I took him from you, saying "All done, buddy, all set now." He nestled on one side of my lap as I pulled you under my other arm. I heard more trucks stopping out front and feet pounding, and then Sully's voice calling "clear, clear, it's all clear" as more feet pounded in. "Get me an evidence team and a camera," he barked.

Not long after, as I sat there just holding the both of you, I heard the gravelly murmur of Sam's voice out in the hall, and he stuck his head in, body blocking the view of the bodies outside. "I'm just going to clean this up, should be soon, I hope," he said, and you nodded at his grim, shocked expression. Your eyes were glittering with... something, and I wanted us out of here as soon as possible. "Anyone need a doctor?" he asked, taking in your strange expression.

You shook your head. "Just a few bruises, nothing we can't deal with once we're done here." Sam might have normally insisted that you let some EMTs check you out, but that look on your face? I don't think anyone was going to cross you tonight. And I could tell you were physically as fine as you could be. Mentally? Well, it wasn't anything EMTs were going to be able to help with.

Parker didn't seem scared much at all-- he told me "Bones said she heard a noise in the street and had me go to the safe place," then said "I stayed there, really quiet, just like you and Bones said to."

"You did good, buddy," I said, smoothing his hair and checking him over. He was completely untouched. He looked a little scared, but not in shock, or hysterical, like some children could be. My Bones, you shielded him well. Better than anyone.

"Bones said if I was quiet everything would be okay," he continued, and you nodded, responding.

"It is, now, Parker. You helped out a lot, being so quiet."

He looked at you further, his usual curious expression creeping back into his face. "What were those noises, earlier, Bones? The popping ones? Those were loud."

The glitter in your eyes hardened, but you answered calmly as he shifted on my lap to turn and look at you. "Those noises happen sometimes when your Dad and I fight with the bad guys. But you don't worry about that, they're all taken care of, and as soon as Mr. Cullen and Mr. Sullivan check everything out, we can all go have a sleepover with Jack and Angela until your Mom comes back, okay?"

A shiver went up my spine at the way you so quickly deflected him about the noises of gunfire with the promise of Jack and Angela's house. He loves it, it's like one giant playground to him, and I suppose it's safe, now, to go there. Judging by the body count, we'd accounted for everyone coming and going from that warehouse, including the old man and his sons. And Nick. I wished I'd had more time alone with him, but there was too much risk in leaving him alive long enough for further questioning. Or revenge. It was pure elimination, much as my hands itched for more. I wondered whose bullet we'd find in Doolan's head. Anthony's? There'd been a gun on the floor near his hand as he stained the carpet red in the bedroom. It wouldn't be Nick's-- he'd been with me at the Hoover, waiting for Cindy, sympathizing with her, promising we'd stay in touch. He delivered her up like a lamb to the slaughter-- and I let him. So many loose ends to tie up, now that it was over.

You started shaking more strongly under my arm, though it still wasn't visible, and your teeth were gritted. You were almost as pale as that time your nose bled. I gave you the "_I'm going to get us out of here as soon as humanly possible_" look, and you just looked back, "_you'd better_." "Parks," I said, shifting him off my lap. "You put some clothes in a bag, let Bones tell you which ones, okay? I'm going to go make sure we can go soon." He hoped down, and I slipped out the door, stepping over the body off to the left. His small voice was piping about dinosaur pjs as you answered him, reminding him not to forget about underwear.

I turned back down to the bedroom. Sam followed me in, keeping his voice down. "Six men, eighteen bullets. Jesus wept, Seeley."

"Yes, Sam, He did," I murmured, distractedly, as I reached back up into the closet to reset the cover over the hidey-hole. I'd always had it, and you'd insisted that we had to tell Parker about how to use it, and safe words, right after you found Kenton's entry wound in that first Fratelli skull. I'd hated it, and we fought about it for days, but you were right, Bones, thank God. Sam stepped into the closet after I finished adjusting the cover.

"Seamless," he said, "Never would have found it."

"Mmm-hmm," I responded, rounding up the rest of the weapons. You'd used my 9 mm since it had eighteen in the clip, but you'd used your .22, too, I saw, as I pulled out your box and noted it missing. I wondered what happened to make you drop the 9 mm. "You need an inventory of these or can I just go put them in the truck?"

He swallowed as I looked at him, something in his face shifting at whatever expression I bore. Fury? Terror? I don't know. I don't really care. He responded. "No, you take them. We just need the two she used."

"Fine," I said, ducking over another body and ignoring the blood on the walls in the hall to go into the bathroom and pull the one out under the tub.

I collected the rest of the weapons, stepping over bodies bleeding all over our rugs, and handed the three closed boxes to Sully once I'd collected them all. For good measure I took down the unloaded shotgun and collected the shells, and brought them out to the truck, where he'd already placed the boxes in back, a newbie Agent standing by.

"Anyone who's not an Agent makes any move toward the truck without my or Sullivan's okay, shoot them. They keep coming, shoot to kill." I said. She swallowed, but nodded, as Sully just nodded behind me.

"You or Agent Sullivan. Got it."

Sid arrived then, as I was headed back to the house, and jogged over.

"All set, Sid," I said.

"How many'd you get?" he asked, a bloodthirsty gleam warring with his look of concern at the fact that it had taken him long enough to get here for something to have happened in the meantime. Since I wasn't actively killing someone, he knew it must be alright, and all over.

"None, here. Bones got them all before Sully and I cleared the door. _Sua sponte_, Sid." All on your own, you took out those fuckers, Temperance.

He shook his head. "Fuck. _Sine pari_." _Sine pari-- _Latin, and Rangerspeak-- without equal. That's you, Bones.

"What do you need?" he asked, waiting for orders.

"Call Jenkins, tell him you're setting up a perimeter. Call Steven, see if he can come down from Baltimore. Call Daniel, Mark, too, if they can get their ass on a plane. We'll square up the plane fare, after. Sid, you take point, but call if you need me." I was pretty sure it was over, but I wasn't trusting anyone else from the Bureau besides Sully, Paul, and Sam, not now. Possibly ever. We'll see. For now, I wanted my own squad around us. People whose lives you've saved more than once won't turn on you.

------------------------

I heard Jack's voice outside and a car door slamming as I headed back in. All told, it had been forty five minutes since I'd left the house for the warehouse, and Jack had wasted no time getting here once you called him. That pile of his is far out in the country. I heard Sid intercept him, and start to fill him in as I surveyed the room. They were working fast, but not fast enough.

The growl that came from my throat wasn't one I'd ever heard before. "Work fucking faster," I said, as Sam looked up, alarmed, from where he was kneeling, pitching in to take photos. "I am not walking my son out over bleeding bodies. I want this scum out of here. Now." They worked faster.

I slipped back into the room, as Parker still prattled and stuffed his knapsack with toys, and you said, "Parks, you don't need your microscope, Jack has one he'll let you borrow. That's enough toys, now." I surveyed you, still tamping that whatever it was in your eyes down, for Parker, my boy, our boy. I tried to follow your lead. It would have to wait, until we could give him to our family to watch for a few hours.

There was finally some thumping and zipping and dragging out in the hall, past us from the bedroom, and in another five minutes, the noise ceased. "Let me go get you a coat or something, Bones," I said, then ducked out and grabbed the first clogs and coat thing I saw-- this double knit, madly-striped cashmere cardigan sweater your Mongolian goatherd sent you last week, in thanks for the fact that he now had the whole village working with him and his wife to make eye-bleeding socks. It was fitting. Visible proof of how incredible you are—your cashmere coat of many colors.

When I got back in, you were still sitting, but you'd gotten Parker to zip himself up and put some shoes on his feet as he shouldered his bag. You shook your head as I thought about whether you were going to stand on your own. Not the way you were looking, so I then stepped out again.

"Jack!" I called from the front doorway. The broken, splintered front doorway. He jogged over. "Will you take Parks over to the truck? Make sure he doesn't see anything." He nodded, grimly, and walked in, me following.

"Parker," I said. "Jack's going to bring you out to the truck, okay? We'll be right out."

"Bones is coming, right?" Parker asked, wide eyed as you sat there, shoes off, no jacket on, still in your pajamas.

You nodded, still pale, teeth still gritting, shakes getting ever more visible, and said "Sure am, Parker. Your Dad and I just have to finish a few things in here, okay?"

"Okay," he smiled, and clambered up Jack's leg just as Jack bent to scoop him up and press Parker's head into his shoulder.

"Thanks, brother," I said, as he just nodded, grimly, shielding our boy's eyes from the carnage outside as he walked out toward the street.

I knelt and got your clogs on your feet, and helped you on with your sweater, covering the dark bruises already blooming on your arms. "Did they hit you?" I asked, my voice shaking now that we were alone.

You shook your head, closing your eyes. "No, not really. Just from ducking and rolling. Hit a few doorways and counters, that's all." You opened your eyes and looked at me again, the desperate half-crazed look in your eyes clearer now that Parker was out of the room. Not that I blamed you. I hardly remember the first week that passed after the first time I killed more than three guys at a go.

"Come on, Bones," I said, boosting you up and settling you better in my arms. "Let's blow this pop stand."

"I don't know what that means."

"I'll explain later," I said, holding you closer, since you felt lighter than ever. I didn't want some stiff breeze to come along, and take you away.

--------------

As I opened the door with you in my arms, everyone taking photos or samples stilled, and got the hell out of my way as we came out. Sully and Sam were out in front of the house, directing the evidence team as more newbie Agents warded off rubberneckers. Sid's car was already gone, so I assumed he'd already headed toward Jack's house. Jack was sitting in the front seat of the truck, singing "the bedtime song" with Parker, who sat in his lap and played with the lights on the truck, and managing, somehow, to make it seem like this was all one big adventure. You squints are better than cops.

I got you into your seat and buckled you in. I think only you were surprised when Parker promptly clambered out of Jack's lap and into yours, and wrapped his arms around you like a baby monkey. He might not understand what really just happened, but he knows who takes care of him. You settled your arms around him, and joined Jack in the rest of the bedtime song as I went back over to Sully and Sam.

"Who's holding down the warehouse?" I asked.

Sully answered. "D.J. I'm headed over there as soon as you and Tempe are gone."

"Good." It was more a grunt than a word. I wasn't feeling particularly talkative.

Sam paused, looking uncertain, before speaking. "I assume you've already made arrangements to secure Dr. Hodgins' house?"

"Yeah. No offense."

"None taken." He shook his head, looking every bit his age and more. "At least it's over, now."

I grunted again, then tried to wrap things up. "Someone put a steel door on the house when you go, back door, too. We've got a contractor coming by to look at it on Thursday night anyway."

Sam nodded. "I'll take care of it. You call when she's ready to talk."

I nodded, agreeing. "Not before. The Director has a problem, you tell him I said he can fucking well wait."

Both Sully and Sam flinched. I don't care. You'll give your statement when you're ready, and not before then. Not if they don't want to go through me, first. Seeing as neither one of them had anything further to add, I turned and walked off. I wasn't in the mood for pleasant goodbyes.

Jack abandoned the driver's seat as I came back. "Want me to drive right ahead, brother?" he asked, gripping my arm.

"Please. I'll probably drive straight into a tree, otherwise," I replied.

"That would be bad for the tree," he said. "You and Dr. B. are too tough to do anything but mow anything in the way down." God, Bones. I love him.

-------------------

I had both hands on the wheel because if I let go just for a moment I was sure that we'd crash, so when my phone buzzed, you reached over and pulled it out of my pants, juggling Parker, who was now half asleep in your arms.

"Sid. Says he's all set," you murmured, your voice shaky. "Any response?"

"No. If he's where he should be, no need to distract him."

Neither one of us spoke further on the way to Jack's. There wasn't anything to say until we handed off Parker, anyway. "How was your day, dear?" didn't touch it. Not by a long shot. Or all the close range shots each of us took today, either.

When we got there, I saw no signs of Sid's car, and took that as a good sign. At least there were no prickles on the back of my neck like there had been ever since you ID'd Kenton's bullet. I began to think it might really be over. I parked behind Jack, right at the front, and dropped a kiss on Angela's cheek when she opened the door as I brought all the weapons inside. Not that I thought that we'd need them, at this point-- it was more that I was done, for the moment, with trusting anyone or anything that wasn't right in our little circle of family. Jenkins was waiting inside, looking composed and unfazed by it all.

"I'll put these in the gun room, right around the corner," he said, jerking his head.

"Thanks, Jenkins."

"All the way, Seeley." Figures Jenkins was Airborne. I knew I liked him.

I came back out, and Parks was still clinging to you like a baby monkey, half asleep and whining as the change in movements woke him. He let go when I took him and shushed him. "Hey, Parks. Can you be good for Bones and me and go sleep with Jack and Angela tonight? We'll all have a sleep over in the ballroom tomorrow, but tonight Bones is really tired from catching the bad guys and I need to help her get to bed, okay?"

He looked at you and you nodded. "Camping on the floor, tents and lanterns and everything," you said. "I bet Jenkins even has a camp stove so we can make s'mores." He brightened, and reached for you to give you a kiss.

"Okay, 'night Bones," he said, then waved at you as I gave him my own kiss and passed him to Jack. Ange held the door for us as I scooped you up and carried you inside.

She looked ferocious, and relieved, and incredibly worried. I would be, too. So I said what I could. "Sid's around, somewhere." She nodded, her face easing a little.

"Goodnight, Angela," you said mildly, despite the fact that the nails in the hand you'd looped around my neck were digging in so hard I could feel the skin break. "See you in the morning."

"Sleep well, sweeties," she said. "It's over."

She padded off toward their wing of the house as I headed off to the stairs to our room. I can remember the way when I have to.

-------------------------

I took the stairs three at a time, your hand white-knuckled where you grabbed my shirt where the collar stuck out of the vest. I could feel a small trickle of blood starting where your hand at my neck was digging in hardest.

The door was already open-- fortunate, since I'd have had to kick it down if it wasn't. I did kick it closed behind me, the wood shuddering in the frame, but not cracking. I set you on the bed, but before I could pull away, you grabbed the front of my vest, your eyes full of grief, and horror, and more than a little mad, and said just three words.

"Make it stop."

Your trembling hands worked at the first strap on the vest, so I ripped it off and tossed it to the side as you clawed your own clothes off while I shed my own. As soon as I'd discarded the last scrap of clothing, you reached over and grasped my wrist with more strength than I'd have thought was left in you. I came, willingly, as you pulled me over you. As I positioned myself, you wrapped your arms around my neck, pulling me close to that horrified look in your eye as you said, "Just don't stop."

"I won't," I promised. I surged into your womb as hard and as fast as I could, and you clamped yourself around me, even as you let out a cry of such fear and anger that my own tore from my throat-- despite my vow to keep it together long enough to give you what you needed. But my body had other ideas, as did yours. I continued as you arched against me, your legs shuddering but gripping me tightly, your hands clawing even as they clung to me.

I don't know how long it lasted, each cry torn from you worse than the once before, my heart stopping each time. This wasn't healing-- not even catharsis. It was need, and terror, and fury, pure and simple-- the body demanding release from what the mind and soul couldn't handle-- until even our bodies betrayed us together. I roared with a climax so painful, so wracking that I nearly blacked out, as you screamed again, so broken-sounding that my knees gave out even as you contracted and flooded around me.

I had to stop, then, for a moment. I couldn't breathe between the fury still gripping me and the fear for the punishing pace you'd demanded. But you moaned, and seized my face from where I'd buried my head in your shoulder, and pulled me so I was looking at you. Your eyes were still glittering, not one fraction less crazed, and you rasped out, your voice nearly gone, "again."

I didn't know if I could, and if I did, what we would be like when it was over, but again, my body took over as my knees and arms firmed. Your heels dug into my back as I surged into you again, your hands clawing me even as you arched away, your back bowing as you cried out in fury again.

It was hours before you finally, really fell limp, not from exhaustion, but release-- the electric current surging through you cut off suddenly. Your cry of release was only of sorrow and relief, and your eyes held only you again. As I looked down at you, you reached up to lay your hand against my neck, the salt sweat of your palm stinging in the gouges you'd raised. Looking further, I saw I'd been gripping your arms, my fingers white-knuckled. I let go, then choked back a sob as I saw I'd left bruises.

"Shh," you whispered, your voice barely audible, as you pulled my head to the join of your shoulder, and pulled the rest of me down, my body covering yours. "You didn't hurt me. You didn't." We lay there, our hearts slamming in our chest for some uncountable time, until I gathered the courage to look at you again.

"Still here," you whispered. And then, for the first time since I saw you unload those three perfect shots into the last of those murderous bastards, your eyes welled with tears.

"Temperance, love," I managed to creak out, "shh, Bones, lover, it's over." I withdrew from you so I could pull you to me side, and you began to sob, no sound coming from your exhausted throat. Shivers started to wrack you, so I wrapped both arms around you and held you as close as I could. They continued, though, as you cried yourself dry, and your skin became clammy and cold. Inching back to the side of the bed, and bringing you with me because I was too afraid to let go, I pulled you into my lap as I tried sitting at the edge, waiting to see if my knees would even support me. They would, so I lifted and carried you into the bathroom, setting the tap as hot as I could stand, before settling you in with me and as I pulled over the shower lever.

The scalding water rained down on us, stinging the welts your nails left, but the almost punishing heat had its desired effect, and your muscles slowly relaxed, your tortured sobs changing from gasps to wheezes, to merely uneven, until you finally calmed, my hand circling your back as I held your head to my heart with the other. As you calmed, your shivering stilled, and you finally relaxed into me. The scalding water cooled to merely comforting warmth, and the pink dawn started seeping in through the window when you finally slept. As I dried us both and got you back into bed, I had only one thought.

_Just let me take care of her. Let me keep taking care of her, so she can take care of us all. Please. _


	66. Chapter 66

66.

I woke, the noonday sun sending chinks of light across the floor and under the curtains, as I heard solid footsteps and something clanking headed toward our room. Good man, I thought. Jack knew by now that trying to be quiet would have had me out of the bed and into the hall with my weapon in an instant. Instead, sliding you off me and settling you into the bed, I slid on some shorts and opened the door to step out into the hall, shutting the door behind me.

"Hey," he greeted me, his voice low so as not to wake you. His expression was serious, his eyes searching, a tray with food and thermoses in hand.

I nodded, cleared my throat, and managed a hoarse-voiced "Hey."

"How is she?" he asked, knowing, I think, some of the state you were in when we'd headed upstairs last night.

"Better. She'll be fine, I think. How's Parker?"

He smiled then, fondly. "He's fine. Slept with us, straight through the night, not a peep or a kick out of him. He's watching TV with Angela, I called the school to tell them he was staying home today. He wanted to know when you two were coming down. I let Cam know what was up, though I'm sure Sully told her, and I called Dr. Thornton's office, to reschedule today's to Friday instead. I left Rebecca a message, though I didn't say what happened, just that you could be reached here."

"Thanks. She couldn't handle it today. I'll need to call Delia. Bones needs to sleep herself out, and I don't want to leave her alone."

"Understood. I told Parker you two were probably tired, and he just said 'Catching the bad guys is hard work.'" I closed my eyes against the tears pricking them at how unafraid you'd managed to keep him.

"Hey, brother," Jack said, juggling the tray to set it down and give me a quick hug. "It's over man, it'll be fine."

I nodded, swallowed, patted his back, pulled away, and let out the breath I'd been holding in, despite everything last night, the one holding down the rage I would need to find them and kill them if there were any left. It was done, and our family was already helping clean up. "Jack... if you'd seen it."

He nodded. "I heard Sully telling Cullen outside at one point, saw them bringing the bags out. I'm not really surprised, though, Dr. B.'s always been protective."

"If she never has to protect someone like that ever again, I'll be a lucky, lucky man."

He nodded, and jerked his chin at the tray on the floor. "Come down when you're ready, or call if you need something."

"Thanks, Jack."

"Hey, family."

"Family."

------------------------

Despite my attempt to be quiet, you were sitting up, awake, when I came back in and shut the door. I set the tray down and came back to sit down next to you.

"Parker sleep okay?" you rasped out, your voice strained and hoarse, as your question ripped my heart out again and stuffed it back in all at once.

"Jack said he didn't make a peep." You nodded, accepting, then focused a little more on me. Turning sideways to look, you traced lightly alongside one of the welts you'd left.

"Seeley, I'm sorry," you said, leaning forward to kiss the nearest one tenderly.

"You're not exactly unscathed yourself," I said, repeating your kiss on the marks my fingers left last night.

You shifted, kneeling up, and came behind me to trace and place kisses like benisons on each scratch or welt that your left, the hand bracing yourself on my shoulder trembling slightly even as your grip was firm. When you were done, I did the same for each ugly bruise you'd accumulated over those three? five? ten? horrible minutes. This time it was gentle, as you shifted, then hovered above me, your hands on my shoulders as we met, my slow stroke upward met by your trembling descent and your soft, sighed, "home," when we met fully. You leant forward, so I could wrap my arms around you and hold you as we came home again.

-----------------------------

When we woke again, intertwined, it was a few hours later, and you were tracing my face. "We should eat something, go downstairs," you said, softly.

"If you're ready."

"I am."

I brought the tray over and we ate the bagels and cream cheese Jack brought, and I had some coffee while you drank your tea. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of my coffee, but didn't turn green. Thank God for small favors. I got up to explore if there was anything we could wear besides last night's clothes, and nearly cried. At some point since the wedding, they'd stocked the bureau with jeans and t-shirts and sweats for me and some more of the soft clothes you've been wearing-- right down to your skimpy underwear and some boxers and socks almost as loud as the ones I'd usually buy. There were shoes and coats in the closet-- enough clothes, all told, for a week, maybe more. There were things for Parker, even, in a small bureau they put in sometime after the wedding. Even as I was sniffling, I held up one of those thongs you wear that make me so crazy, and you laughed. "Angela must have bought them. She's incorrigible. We're lucky."

"We are."

We showered, and dressed-- you were still far more shaky than you had been, even lately. You probably would be for days-- at least your color was good and your cold didn't seem much worse. We headed down, you in my arms the whole way-- more because I wanted to hold you and less because I was concerned about the practical facts of your managing the stairs, though there was that, too. You'd wobbled too much in the shower, not that I blamed you. Too much adrenaline, Bones, even under healthier circumstances.

Everyone was in the sunroom and Parker was lying on the floor, coloring in pictures of insects. My son, the invertebrate lover. He rolled over and bounced up as we came in, calling "Daddy! Bones!" as I settled you down on the couch next to Angela. As soon as you were seated, he hauled up between you and Angela, and imperiously motioned to Jack to hand him the things he'd been coloring so he could tell you all about bees, including queen bees, and drones, and worker bees, and hives. "And, and, Bones! Did you know Jack has beehives?!? He says they're all on vacation in Florida right now so they don't get cold, but that they'll be back before Easter, and! and! He's going to show me how to make honey!"

You smiled, ruffling his curls, and started quizzing him on bee anatomy, and the differences between drone and worker bees. You never cease to amaze me, Bones. Unloading bullets into mafiosos one night, making my kid the squintiest squint the next.

I stepped out to send Sid a text and check my phone, but I didn't have any other messages than one from Sully that my gut on Nick was right, so I came back in and sat down on the floor next to Jack, who was collecting the scattered crayons and other detritus attendant on keeping Parker entertained. There were a bunch of educational toys and coloring books that we didn't bring with us-- I know Jack and Angela want kids, and Parker's lucky to have them practicing on him.

At some point Jenkins came up with hot cocoa and tea and cookies, looking unruffled and calm. I figured that must mean everything was under control, but I followed him out into the hall to make sure. He cocked an eyebrow at me, and walked further away from the entrance. "Sid checked in about an hour ago, everything's fine. Steven got in this morning, he's at the airport getting Mark and Daniel right now. They should be back within the hour, and then they'll draw straws about who takes the next shift."

"Thanks, Jenkins. I don't actually expect there to be further trouble, but until I'm 100 percent certain, I don't want to take any chances."

He nodded. "From what Jack said, I tend to agree, but it's better to have your unit around until then. You're going to have a lot of work to do at the Bureau before it's clean there again. They can stay here as long as you and Temperance like, of course."

I nodded, agreeing, but once again, I wondered exactly who Jenkins was, where he came from, how it was that he was as comfortable making decisions about Jack's house as Jack. But he would either discuss it, or not. Instead, I just said, "Let me know when everyone gets in, I'll come down to the kitchen for debriefing."

Luxurious digs, Bones. Last time I debriefed my squad, it was in a sandblasted cave. Now, at least, there'd be coffee.

-----------------------------------

When I came back in, Parker had calmed down and was back down on the floor, coloring, and soaking up Jack's explanation about colony collapse disorder. Angela was sketching, and I wondered what the next painting would look like. I was both looking forward to it, and dreading it, for whatever near-miss it would remind us of. You were watching Parker and Jack, but looking pensive. When I came back in, you looked up and shot me a look-- you were ready. If you were certain, then yes, it would be better to get it over with, and move on to the next thing-- whatever it was.

"Jack?" you inquired quietly.

"Yes, Double-B?" he said, smiling.

"Have you got someplace where Seeley and I can meet with Sam, preferably out of the way?"

He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Sure. Let me go check something, you go ahead and make your calls." I sent Sam a text, and he responded that he'd be over. Jack came back about ten minutes later, shaking his head. "Sorry. Got lost on my way to the one I thought I was headed toward. You'd better use the room right upstairs from here-- the stairs on the right will take you right there."

You looked at Parker, and said, "Hey, Parker. Your Dad and I are going to go meet with Mr. Cullen for a bit, but we will be back. While we're gone, I want you to think about what else you want besides s'mores for our camping trip, okay?"

He beamed, nodding. "Cool!" Temperance, he has no clue what a close call that was. Thank you.

----------------------

The doorbell rang not long after you sent Sam that text, and Jenkins appeared shortly thereafter to announce Sam had arrived. Sam stuck his head in, and waved hello to Parker as Parker rolled over onto his back to wave hello in return. "Hello, Mr. Cullen," he chirped. "I'm learning about bees from Uncle Jack," he volunteered.

Sam nodded. "Bees are very interesting, and I bet Dr. Hodgins has lots of flowers in the gardens here that bees would be interested in."

Parker nodded, wisely. "He does. We're going to see them in the spring."

Sam smiled, as wanly as I felt. At least there'd be a spring for Parker to see bees in.

You'd stood in the meantime, stopping to drop a kiss on Parker's head before coming over to get me from the couch. Sam, fortunately, acted as if it were completely normal for you to be carrying me around, rather than my observing the usual cultural norm of walking under my own steam. Which was just as well. I was pretty sure it would be days before I'd feel real again. The calmness of everything since I woke this morning felt dreamlike, and I'd decided that even if it were a dream, I'd rather dream about sitting with you and our family in Jack's sunroom than return again to what had been a waking nightmare. It didn't quite feel over yet-- like there was still some part untold. Which was the point in having Sam come over. We couldn't move on to the next part, until what had just happened was closed.

We climbed the stairs, and there was an almost mirror-image sunroom over the one downstairs-- but more formally furnished, less lived in. That was fine with me. What I was about to say wasn't fit for the air in a space like the little haven downstairs. You settled us down onto the sofa under the window, as Sam shut the door and sat down opposite us. No notepads, no voice recorders. He was just waiting to hear the next part of the story.

As you well know, in traditional storytelling, there is a beginning, a middle, and an end, and the tale is linear. Most endings summarize what ocurred during the story in order to tie it to a larger, meta-ethical construct, convincing the listener of the validity of the the larger ethical lesson through their empathetic response to the smaller story. The postmodernist story does not necessarily have a resolution, or even an overarching ethos. Often, the result is ambiguous, or outright chaotic, with no clear way out, no knowable resolution. But traditional stories, the root myths from which we construct our senses of selves and our senses of society, have certain common elements.

Gustav Freytag's theory of dramatic structure most accurately summarizes the manner in which traditional storytelling works. Exposition-- rising action-- climax-- falling action. And then? The resolution. Denouement, for happy endings, or catastrophe. The theory applies to substories as well as any larger myth within which a substory might be contained.

I don't know whether our larger story is going to end in denouement, or catastrophe, or some postmodernist chaos. But if our partnership is the larger story, the exposition for this particular substory started with those two bodies in the lab, and Kenton, and that bullet reconstruction analysis. We'd both thought the denouement arrived when you shot him, when he was arrested. We were wrong, in retrospect-- all of it, everything that came after, was more exposition, until the the inciting moment.

You know what that is-- the single incident in the story's action that sets the remainder of the story in motion beginning with the second act, the rising action. Here, it all started again when I called "Seeley!" after I recognized the grooves on that entry wound in that skull.

Next comes the rising conflict- the introduction of related secondary conflicts, including obstacles frustrating the protagonists' attempt to reach their goal. Secondary conflicts can include adversaries of lesser importance than the story's antagonists, who may work with the antagonist or separately, by and for themselves. The lack of initial particulates. The unusual manner of dismemberment. The personal nature of their vendetta. The Navy Yard Commandant. The fact that it took us so long to find those PCBs. The fact that they'd all had plastic surgery. The Bureau corruption, at so many levels, tangling us, holding us back, exposing us to danger every step we took. Every single dead end, wild goose chase, delayed lead drew that rising conflict out so long that I began to wonder if I'd make it to the climax, much less the falling action. And we both know I don't try to hope, one way or the other, about the ending. I'm trying to avoid being the usual listener to stories-- I don't want to know, yet, how it ends. I just want to enjoy the story as it continues, for however long it does.

The climax comes next-- it marks the turning point, for better or worse, in the protagonists' affairs. What was it, here? Kevin Doolan's agreeing to meet with me and my father? Cindy's identification of Rocco Romano? The point at which, bleary-eyed and exhausted, I saw a 25-34 year old caucasian female of moderate build being strong-armed into a building by a vital yet stooped 70-75 year old caucasian male on a grainy surveillance film?

In any event, the falling action began, with what felt like a thousand times the regular speed and weight of gravity. During the falling action, the conflict between the protagonists and the antagonists unravels, with the protagonists winning or losing against the antagonists. The falling action might contain a moment of final suspense, during which the final outcome of the conflict is in doubt. When you left the house in your vest, I was sure that the final suspense would be as I waited to hear back from you, or from someone else, about what happened at the warehouse. But there were more secondary conflicts, still, than we'd accounted for, and the falling action fell out entirely differently.

I took a deep breath, took your hand as you pulled me further into your chest and snugged your arm around my shoulders, and started this part of the story.

"I was sitting with Parker in the living room, when I noticed two cars drive slowly down the street, then stop several houses down, diagonally from the house. I heard a car door slam, and looked more closely. I'd been watching so many surveillance films, and run that mass recognition program so many times, that when the driver of the first car got out and stood, silhouetted under the streetlight, I knew it was Anthony. He has a stoop on his left shoulder, from an old collarbone injury. And his body mass, basic posture, was all still the same.

I didn't wait to see if Rocco was with him or if the other four were the ones I knew I would recognize from their comings and goings at the warehouse if I watched them get out of the car. I knew it was Anthony-- that was enough evidence from which to deduce what would happen next.

I picked up Parker and ran him back to the bedroom, and set him down long enough to get the cover over the alcove in the closet undone before I pushed him up into it. I hushed him and told him he needed to be quiet if he was going to help me catch some bad guys, and that the best thing he could do was to stay so quiet, like in Hide and Seek, until he heard the safe word. I covered up the alcove after he promised, then pulled out the 9 mm from the bedside table and my .22. I'm glad those new pajamas we bought actually had well-fitted waists-- I wouldn't have had anyplace to put the .22, otherwise.

It couldn't have been more than a minute and a half from when I heard that car door slam, but ... you know how it can be, if it's going to end in denouement, not tragedy. Time stretches, until there's enough of it. Your adrenaline gives you enough strength pick up a little boy when the day before a gallon of milk was too heavy. There was enough everything to do what was necessary to eliminate the threat.

I waited until they broke the door in, knowing my best chance was surprise. I could slow them as I worked from back to front, and could therefore make sure that no one made it past me to Parker. Anthony... came first. He was the first, and the easiest. He wasn't expecting me, and firing was easy, all three shots, each one coming as easy under my trigger finger as sorting phalanges into proper anatomical order would be, any other day. He... fell, and I sidestepped him, out into the hall. The next two had slowed, hearing the shots, seeing him fall. One of them lunged for me while the other held back, so I let the first one overbalance while I dropped and rolled into the doorway of the bathroom. He'd fallen, behind me, so I could fire at him and then scissor kick the one hanging back, to my other side. The third one didn't go down right away, and I had to duck him then hammer strike him in the ribs before I could fire. But he turned, and fell, and I could fire.

I was using the 9 mm., and the fourth was coming down the hallway at me with a tire iron. He swung at me and missed as I ducked again, then pushed under his dominant side and past him betweeen him and the wall. He turned and swung, missed me again as I ducked and swept his feet out. He... fell, and I fired again as I slid back up the wall.

He was the last one in the hall. There was one in the kitchen, with a knife, and he was faster than the other four were. He came forward, and slashed while I was still turning back toward the front of the house. I blocked it with the 9 mm, but the knife must have been a titanium alloy, and very sharp, because it lodged in the polymer of the sidearm. So I dropped it, and pushed past him. I donkey kicked him, then turned and pulled my .22 and snap kicked him when he started to rise again. He stayed down long enough for me to fire again. And then it was just Rocco, and Seeley and Tim saw when I... finished it.

There was enough time. There was enough adrenaline. It was all clear, and predictable. I knew things would be fine, because Rocco was the last one through that door and I could hear the sirens, the trucks coming."

My voice had become increasingly hoarse as I narrated the falling action. Both you and Sam were utterly silent, paying attention to this part of our substory, the part that was only now coming back into the narrative, this little nonlinear diversion from the progress toward the non-tragic outcome-- the denouement at which Parker responded to "vertebrae," and let me pull him out of the closet, and was fine, unharmed, still here.

I hesitated, wondering about how far to depart from traditional storytelling. I suppose I'm postmodernist enough to believe that moral ambiguity, if true, has some role in effective storytelling. At least if no children are there to hear it. So I told you two the remaining part of the falling action section of the story, the part that we adults, we arbiters of social norms, would edit in any public version of the story that might eventually be told. But it was true, and truth, not just sociocultural conformity, is an another important part of storytelling. I erred on the side of truth, rather than conformity, rather than comfort.

"There was enough time to finish it, to stop them. There was enough adrenaline to finish it, to stop them. But there weren't enough bullets to properly deal with them-- there never will be. If I had all the time, all the strength I wanted, I'd have emptied every gun in the house into each one of them."

You didn't flinch, not that you ever would, when I said it. I didn't suppose I'd surprise you. Sam's pupils widened, on his part, but that was it. But he recovered his surprise quickly and said, "No doubt you would."

------------

I settled you back on the sunroom sofa with Angela and a throw, and walked Sam out to the front.

He shook his head, amazed, admiringly, and somewhat afraid, as he paused in the doorway. "That is a lioness, Seeley, protecting your cub."

"The female of the species, Sam. More deadly than the male."


	67. Chapter 67

67

You came back in to the sunroom after seeing Sam out, and just as Parker began to detail all the "hot dogs, and s'mores, and potato chips, and hot dogs and macaroni salad and soda and popsicles!" that he wanted for our camping trip. He's a Booth, no wonder, if he wants all that meat, sugar and carbohydrates. Perhaps I can put some vegetables in the potato salad. It was late afternoon by this point, and I was wondering if we'd even get the chance to set up the "camping trip," when Jenkins came back in, smiling over Parker's head, and winking at all of us.

"Master Parker," Jenkins intoned. "May I borrow your Dad and your Bones to confer as to the remaining aspects of this week's camping trip?" Week, Booth? Well, it makes sense. I'm not ready to go home yet. Perhaps we'll let Carol gut the whole place and just stay at my apartment, or here, in the meantime. All that blood on the carpets and the holes in the walls of the hallway.

Parker just nodded, smiling. "Sure, Jenkins, you can talk to them. I told Bones what we should eat on our cookout." He rolled back onto his stomach, coloring in the different segments of a centipede on the printout Jack gave him. You gave me the look that said, "_How's he know what confer means_," and I just smiled back. "_He's a Booth. He's smarter than he gives himself credit for_."

"C'mon, Bones," you said, scooping me up and following Jenkins down to the kitchen, calling "Parker, be good for Jack and Angela, and Jack and Angela, be good for Parker!" over your shoulder. It's true, Seeley. Parker's a good influence on them-- far fewer public displays of erotic affection around children now. Not that they won't always be somewhat, what's your word for it? Handsy? (Yeah. Handsy. Got it in one, Bones.)

When we made our way down, Jenkins had already set out pots of coffee and mugs, and Sid was sitting with Daniel and Mark. I suppose Steven was already out on patrol.

"Temperance," they all greeted, except for Sid, who instead said, "Yo, T.," as you set me down. I exchanged hellos, then listened as Sid brought you up to date while I picked through the selection of teas Jenkins laid out, and then moved by myself over to start the kettle. Each of you was looking at me as if they were both afraid I'd fall over and afraid I would shoot them, but Seeley, it's only three feet between the counter and the stove, I'm fine. Jenkins had pulled out some fruit and a juicer while I was starting the stove, and asked mildly, "grape, orange, or cherry popsicles, Temperance?"

"Grape," I said, thinking. I'd had enough of orange juice for a while, and I was feeling less cold-stricken. I took the grapes from him and started rinsing and picking them from the stems, murmuring, "Go join them, please," since it's clear Jenkins, too, is an alpha-male in his own right, and wanted in on the action. Plus, it is his house, as much as Jack's-- he has a right to know where all the weapons and sentries are.

I ignored the four of you mostly as I made myself tea and picked through the fruit, setting it aside in the bowl for someone to run them through to make juice. I trailed my way over to the fridge to see what vegetables there might be, and of course, there were many. I don't know if Jenkins laid food in for a whole barracks, or Sid did. I suppose it doesn't matter. But sure enough, there were hot dogs and other food fit for Parker's still growing eating habits. We do need to do more work on his vegetable consumption, though, Booth. (Fine. Just keep him away from escargot, okay, Bones?) (You _liked_ the snails. You ordered another dozen, remember?)

I pulled out a few things to start cooking, and when you four were done conferencing, Sid came over to help. I shooed him away. "Sidney, you've been up for what, twenty straight hours, now? Go take a nap and a shower, I can take care of this. If you can't sleep in the next two hours, you can come back down to help, okay?" He started to protest, and I shot him a look. "Sidney. It's hot dogs and macaroni salad." He didn't cringe, none of your unit would, but he stood, measuring, before nodding.

"Okay, T." He turned and headed out, the two of you exchanging more murmurs in the doorway, as Daniel and Mark slipped out as well.

"I'm going to go help set up the tents," you said, pulling me into a hug from behind. "I'll send Angela down so Jenkins here can tell us what not to break."

"Fine," I answered, turning to kiss you. You still looked so grave, and I suppose I did too, but at least it was quiet. Smiling can come back once it's been quiet and bullet-free for a few days.

Jenkins and I worked for a bit more in silence. I don't wonder, too much, at who he is or where he comes from. Many cultural myths feature the trickster character, the magical remover of obstacles who somehow manages to help the protagonists through their trials, with previously unforetold skills. I'm not saying that we are in the midst of a myth, Booth, but the archetype exists for a reason-- because there are people in real life who seem to exhibit those traits. He's just the Hermes of Hodgins' home. (Hah, hah, Bones, very clever with the not wanting to apply hermeneutics to the Hermes archetype. I still want to know where he came from.) (Okay, Professor Booth, whatever.) (I'm not a nerd.) (Booth, you got mine and then made your own pun on hermeneutics. You, husband, are an etymological nerd.) (Heh. You said husband.)

Angela made her way down not long after you left, clapping Jenkins on the shoulder. "I'll spell you here. Jack said you should go up, he can't remember where the lanterns are."

Jenkins just rolled his eyes. "They're right next to the casts of the Elgin marbles up in the attic, behind the extra Aubusson rugs. I have to do everything around here. You two hold down the fort. The picnic baskets are in the butler's pantry, under the marble counter with which Ms. Montenegro is well familiar." He shot her a wink and a smirk as Angela actually blushed. I do love Jenkins, too, Booth. And... Elgin marbles? I think the next Jeffersonian Halloween party should be here.

Angela and I managed to put most of the picnic dinner together in the hour or two that you all were gone. I'd moved to sit at the counter as I chopped and stirred salads together, and packed the baskets with food, dishes, and silverware, while Angela bent and carried and cooked. We managed to put together a new brownie recipe in short order-- their pantry is so well stocked that I may just come here the next time I want to recipe test. I wondered what Jack was doing with Parker to keep him amused, and asked Angela. "Oh, they went to one of the greenhouses. Jack got in a new batch of spiders and flies, and was going to show Parker the carnivorous plants. It's far enough from the ballroom that Parker won't see them coming and going with everything."

"Just how much of a camping trip is this going to be?" I asked, wondering. Jack's house was a treasure chest, to be sure.

Angela just smiled. "Oh, you'll like it, Bren. Hodgie and I planned most of it with Jenkins this morning while Parks was still sleeping. Plus, it gave Jenkins an opportunity to air out some of the inventory. Hodgie's been planning to sell some stuff off and give the money away, but it's kind of hard when you own so much stuff that you don't know what you own."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Angela smiled back at me. "I hope so, Bren. There will be lions, and tigers and bears."

"I don't know what that means."

She just laughed at me. No, really, I don't know what that means.

------------------------------------

You came back down with Jenkins and Sidney two and a half hours later, Sidney looking the better for a shower and I hope a short rest. Sid peeked into all of the baskets and sniffed approvingly as Angela pulled the tray of brownies out of the oven. "New recipe, T.?" he asked. Your ears perked up and you came over.

"What is it? It smells good. Bones, are those a new kind of brownies? What's in them?" You started to reach for the tray only to have Ange and Sid swat you at the same time. It's so nice to have family.

Angela called Jack once the picnic baskets were all packed, and he and Parker met us at the top of the stairs as Ange and Sid and Jenkins carried the baskets between them. Jack arched his eyebrow. "First or third ballroom, Jenkins?"

Jenkins snorted. "First. The ceiling's higher, and the floors need to be redone in there anyway. Plus, there was more room."

He led the way, Sid taking in the surroundings of all the rooms that we passed. I have no doubt he'll be able to find his way back to the kitchen. (Okay, Bones, enough. I do have a map to the house, now.) (Thank you, Seeley, my husband.) (Stop buttering me up, wife. Hah. Wife.)

Parker was tugging on Jack's arm, urging everyone to move faster. "I'm hungry!" he said, practically bouncing as we boring adults, laden with picnic baskets of provisions, trudged on behind him. We did pack a lot of food-- I didn't know whether the off-duty boys might not come in to join us for dinner, and I figured you'd take care of any leftovers, anyway.

We finally reached our destination, and Jenkins threw open the door with a flourish.

There were four large, safari-style tents, complete with folding wooden frames, set up near the windows, in a semi-circle pavilion. There were layers of carpets over the wood of the floor, and each tent had more layers of carpets, featherbeds, blankets and pillows for sleeping. There were lanterns hanging from the center cross piece of each tent. In the middle of the "pavilion," there was a large wooden table with folding camp chairs surrounding it. The table was set with dishes and glasses, lanterns and kerosene-fired camp stoves. Parker would get his s'mores and his hand-toasted hot dogs. There was a cooler, with sodas and champagne and water, and more sand-weighted poles surrounding the table in a circle, with rope strung between them, around which white christmas lights were strung. The chandeliers overhead were off, and the sun was just setting outside, the pink and gold light casting itself over the tableau of twinkling christmas lights and the flicker of the kerosene lanterns. The room was so large that the smell of kerosene didn't linger.

The path in from the doorway, all the way over to and around the "campground" was lined with potted palms, giant ferns, and other oversized flora. Once we were "inside" the campground, we would feel like were in a jungle-- if jungles had chandeliers and casement windows. The tents and pavilion were set right in front of the windows, which were floor to ceiling in any event, so that anyone could look out and see the stars from wherever they were lying or sitting. There were even smaller potted palms placed along the base of the windows so the back wall lining the patio wouldn't be visible from where we sat.

Parker had stopped, wide-eyed, in the door. "Coooooolllllll" he exhaled, then yelled "Awesome!" as I saw that the path and the area around the camping pavilion were lined not just with flora, but also with fauna. You'll have to explain to me how you managed to bring down all those taxidermied animals from the game room on the sixth floor in so short a time.

Now I saw what Angela meant by "Lions and tigers and bears." Oh, my, it truly was a sight. They'd been set up so that from inside the tented area, only noses, or paws, or tails would be visible-- as if the "campsite" was its own little bastion against wildlife. But on the way in, there were warthogs, and capoberi, and snakes-- all sorts of now endangered species, probably shot and stuffed back when hunting for game rooms was "sport."

There were camp tables and chairs set up in the midst of the tents, low ones suitable for actual safari use. I had no doubt they were authentic, stored here in the house and unused after whichever of Jack's relatives retired that aristocratic indulgence. The tent sides were rolled up, halfway, so that the green of the potted plants and the paws of the dead stuffed animals were visible.

Parker, meanwhile, had run over to a stuffed tiger. "Uncle Jack, can I touch it?" he said, voice quiet and awed.

Jack laughed. "Sure, Parker. You can climb all over them if you want. No one has enjoyed them for years. Just do me a favor and stay off the rhino and the elephant unless one of us is there to catch you. They're both kind of tall, I wouldn't want you to conk your head on the floor. And stay away from the teeth on the lions, the tigers, and bears."

You muttered under your breath. "Oh, my. Only guy we know with life-sized, actual stuffed rhinos and elephants. Parks' going to be wild the next time we take him to the Natural History Museum. He's going to want to ride the tigers like he can here." I looked over. Parker was, in fact, riding the tiger, and telling it "_giddyup_, _Mr. Stripey_!"

I turned to look at Jenkins, who was standing right behind you. "How on earth did you set all this up in a two hours?"

"House elves," Jenkins replied, without batting an eyebrow.

You snorted, keeping your voice low. "He had it all ready to set up when I came in-- he's got ears in the back of his head, since I know he was off storing guns when we were talking about camping outside last night. _Someone_ was up all night carting in potted palms and prehistoric ferns and dead animals for our boy's gruesome enjoyment. All I did was move the plants and dead animals around and help set up the tents, and put down the carpets and featherbeds. Jenkins and his house elves did the rest."

Angela had moved forward and set down the baskets next to the table after we entered the "campground." There weren't any beds in the tents, but there were so many old yet pristine antique carpets on the floors of the tents, and so many featherbeds stacked on top, that each bed was like a big, soft, nest instead. Parker will definitely be spoiled for regular camping from here on out. It was a child's delight. Anyone's delight, really.

Instead, I just said, "House elves, eh, Jenkins? More like R & B Airborne Accountants, I think."

He smiled secretively. "Now, Temperance, if I gave away all my secrets, no one would have any use for me. Besides, my mystery is part of my charm."

"Well, it's wonderful, all of it," I replied.

He smiled and nodded toward the servant's bell on the table. "Since we're going full Victorian safari tonight, ring the bell if y'all need anything. If you're lucky, I might root out my pith helmet and jodhpurs."

Jack snorted. "You mean Great-Grandfather Abner's pith helmet and jodhpurs. Not that they'd fit you. Hodginses are way shorter than Jenkinses."

Jenkins just gave him that arch look he gets right before he unloads another surprise. "I'll have you know I have my own set, from my time in Algeria with the Peace Corps, working on malaria education and DDT application."

"Oh, Jenkins," I said, unable to help myself. "That sounds fascinating. Please let me take you to Anamaria's so you can tell me all about it." You rolled your eyes. Forget it, Booth, you're coming too. Somebody's got to drive.

"It will be my pleasure, Temperance," he replied, following us in until you got me settled into one of the chairs at the table in the middle of "camp."

It really did seem like we could be on safari, except of course that the air lacked the requisite heat and humidity, there were none of the typical calls of bird, insect, and animal life, and there were no fire ants, or mosquitoes, or asps, or other troublesome wildlife to watch out for in shoes and bedding. But other than that, it was just like the real thing. ("Other than that..." Bones, if I didn't know you had no sense of humor, I'd think you were being a wiseass. But I'm glad that you liked it.) (That's right, Temperance Brennan, no sense of humor.) (Punk.) (Your punk.) (My wife, too. Hah, my punk wife. Hah.) (But really, Seeley, it was very similar to a safari camp. Quite nicely done. We need to lure Jenkins away.) (I'm with you on that one. I'd love to know how he got that elephant down here.)

Parker, meanwhile, was otherwise occupied. "Jack! Come help me climb the rhino! Angela! You should come pet Mr. Stripey! Dad! Come look at the elephant! Bones! Are these tusks made of bones?"

That, Seeley, is why I needed more bullets.


	68. Chapter 68

Parker was a little cranky before dinner when I told him the campout would be interrupted during the school day, and that he could only camp when he wasn't in class, plus sleeping. Yeah, I'm a hardass, I know. But he settled down as quickly as he always does, and soon he had you explaining how a camp stove works while he skewered some hot dogs.

Since you had him well occupied, I went off to make some calls. Rebecca actually took my assurance that it was all over, though not initially-- she was hysterical until I told her you'd personally killed every last one of them. At which point she said "oh, well, that's alright, then. Temperance must be tired, though." Nothing like one mama bear to make another feel better.

From where I was standing, off behind the rhinoceros, I could see that you were showing Parker the best way to hold the hot dog over the flame. You were looking like you'd lost a pound for each minute it took me to get home.

"Tired's one way of putting it."

I called Delia next. "Did Jack tell you what happened?" I asked.

"Only that you two finally wrapped up that case and that she was too tired to come in today." Jack. Discreet as ever. Well, I'd save you the trouble of explaining too much tomorrow.

"They rushed the house while I got called out on a ruse. Bones took all six of them out by herself."

Delia gasped. "But Sunday was your day with Parker!"

"Right. We have a hidey hole. Didn't touch a hair on his head."

She paused, then asked, "And Temperance?"

I debated. She'd see the physical signs. I'll leave it to you as to what you want to say about the rest. "Upset, but she's better. I think she'll be fine, emotionally. But... she's more bruises than anything else... and she's so wobbly. She couldn't manage three minutes on her own in the shower this morning. And I could swear she's lost weight." I ignored the fact that my throat was closing over so I could get out that last part.

Delia tsked before answering. "It's possible. Adrenaline's funny that way, especially as much as she would have needed. We'll see how she is tomorrow, though, before we worry too much."

"Okay," I said, watching you laughing at Parker as he held up his now-toasted hot dog for you to approve. "We'll see you then."

"Are you okay, Seeley?" she asked then, sounding hesitant. Lord knows what I must sound like. Grim, probably. Terrified, too.

"Not so sure," I answered honestly. You looked like you might just evaporate into nothing, though at least you had a smile on your face. "We'll see how Bones is doing tomorrow. I'll let you know then."

I rang off and watched you all for a moment. Angela and Jack were mixing pitchers of gin and tonics for the grownups to drink-- authentic safari cocktails, right Bones? All that quinine in the tonic to ward off any mosquitoes that might be in Hodgins' third ballroom in early December. Sid came in through one of the garden doors just then, left his rifle in the corner, and came over to peer over Jack's shoulder as he stirred the drinks, then laughed as Angela handed him the limes and mimed that he should start squeezing. It was dark, and the Christmas lights flickered in the windows' reflection, and the kerosene lamps were casting a warm light, though they made your cheekbones look even more prominent. There aren't many places much better to just fade away than surrounded by your family and friends in a luxurious mock-African safari campground after toasting each other with fresh gin and tonics. I'm sure you probably think so, and while I'd prefer it to be sixty years from now, you'd be right. It's as close to heaven right now as we could ask for.

--------

We made Parker his S'Mores, Sid and Jenkins helping in between gin and tonics. Jack and Angela looked on before Jack pulled a sheet out of one of the tents and hung it over one of the ropes strung with lights. I had no idea the bug man could make shadow puppets so well, but Parks was delighted. You were laughing at Parker's reaction and nursing your drink-- you'd hardly touched your supper though you'd tasted your brownies and gave Sid the recipe, the two of you tweaking it as you talked, but I could tell you were tired and ready for bed. I shot a look at Jack and Angela, and they drew Parker off for more "elephant lessons."

"Want to go upstairs?" I asked.

You shook your head. "No. We promised Parker a campout, and there's no reason not to. I can sleep here as well as I can upstairs."

"Well, will you humor me and come lounge with me in one of the tents like the Queen of Sheba just in case you fall asleep?"

You smiled at me, your eyes twinkling. "Are you going to murmur verses from the Song of Songs in my ear? _Your hair is like a flock of goats/ descending from Mount Gilead._ Because, really, Booth, some of it's lovely, but I've never thought of my hair as being goat-like."

"Nah, Bones," I said, scooping you up and carrying you over to the tent in the middle, so Parker would have the best view. "I was thinking more along the lines of "_How beautiful you are, my darling! / Oh, how beautiful! / Your eyes are doves_.'"

You smiled as I set you down in the midst of one of the "nests" Jenkins and I set up, then said back "_How handsome you are, my lover! / Oh, how charming! / And our bed is verdant_." And then, looking around, you said, "Actually, it's more percale cotton and down and cashmere than verdant. But it is comfortable." Trust you to know the smutty parts of the Bible, Bones, and quote them back properly. And then be a wiseass about it. No wonder I love you.

-----

Parker came over to tell us all about elephants about a half hour later, but you'd already sacked out under the covers I piled up on top of you.

"Bones is really tired, huh, Daddy?" he whispered.

"She is, Bub," I said.

"She's skinnier, too." He was watching you like I don't know what, Bones-- like you've explained everything to him already, and he's prepared for whatever might happen. I'm not.

"She is."

"Is she going to be okay?" He brushed some hair back from your face that had fallen over your nose, and you didn't budge. He came over and sat in my lap, looking at you again and then back at me, waiting for a response.

"I don't know, Bub. She's trying, but sometimes people just stay tired no matter how hard they try. We don't know what's going to happen."

"Do you think Bones is that tired?"

I sat there, looking at you, your eyes shadowed and your face pale and beautiful. "I don't know, buddy. I hope not."

"Me neither," he said. "We just have to help her not be so tired." I wish it was that simple.

--------

You were still sleeping, Angela lounging at the "campfire," boiling water on the camp stove, when I got back from dropping Parker at school.

"Not a peep," she said, pouring me a cup of coffee from a thermos when I returned from checking on you. You'd turned over, at least, and weren't all curled in on yourself, so at least no matter how tired you were, you weren't too physically sore.

I sat down, more heavily than I'd intended, and slurped my coffee. "Jack go to work?"

She nodded. "Cam doesn't need me for anything right now-- unless Clark comes up with something for Limbo, and God knows that can wait. I figured I'd stay home while you take care of ... things."

Things. Like making heads roll at the Bureau, and overhauling every department, and auditing every agent, clerk, and desk jockey six ways to Sunday, making sure the whole place was clean and then killing anybody who wasn't, and then, only then, deciding what came next. I don't know-- maybe I'll take some time off, take a sabbatical, figure out whether I'm staying or going. I'm not teaching again after Christmas, I've just got that class next week and that's it, and I probably won't re-up until you're feeling better-- but I just don't know, Bones. It's supposed to be Fidelity, Bravery, and Integrity, but it's been nothing but greed and backstabbing and cowardice. I never thought I'd lose faith in anyone at the Bureau, and now there's hardly anyone there I can trust. Sully, Sam, Mel and Evan and their fellas, Paul Rodgers, Amelia, Charlie and Sweets? That's not enough reason to stay. We can find some other way to work off our lists.

Ange was staring at me while I brooded. "Yeah," I managed. "Not today, though. I've got to see what Delia says, first, before we plan anything else."

Ange nodded. "She doesn't look good, Booth. That ... took a lot out of her."

"I know," I said. "Maybe too much. We'll see. Even Parker noticed."

She smiled slightly, despite everything. "He's a smart boy. We enjoy having him."

"Well, he loves you guys, and not just because you let him run practically wild around Hodgins' Menagerie."

Angela snorted. "I keep telling Hodgie not to sell off the stuff in the attics, not until we've had kids and they're gone off to college. This place has way too many things for kids to have fun with." She smiled to herself, then poured water for tea. She watched the teabag seep color into the mug, thinking, then looked up and started talking again.

"You should just stay until the renovations at your place are done. At least here there will always be someone around if she needs to keep taking it easy, unlike her apartment. Jenkins and Sid both said they think Jeanne could take some time off to stay here if..." Her voice trailed off, and she took a sip of tea before finishing, swiping her eyes. "If it's necessary."

"Ange, that's too much," I said. "Putting us up for a week while I make other arrangements is one thing. It's going to be the middle of January before everything's cleaned up and Carol's done what she needs to do at the house. Bones' place will be fine."

She gave me a look, a fierce one Ange hardly ever gets. She leaves the being ferocious thing mostly to you. "Seeley Booth-- it is not too much, so you just stop that. You two are responsible for me being with my own love of my life. You should stay as long as you want. You're going to have to come here for Christmas anyway... Jack told Parker about the twelve-foot firs on the back lot that need thinning, and Parker's dying to help. You can hardly deprive him the pleasure of decorating and then and unwrapping presents under a tree he cut down himself."

"Ange, that's blackmail," I said, but my heart wasn't in it. I did need to start cleaning things up at work, and I couldn't stand the idea of leaving you alone in the house while I did that. And if... God forbid... but at least you'd have someone with you. And we were going to have Parker for the whole Christmas vacation-- there could hardly be anyplace else he'd rather spend it, as long as you were here, too. But still.

"We were going to have Bones' family come up to stay..." I wasn't looking forward to figuring out someplace else for them to stay, or even canceling Christmas if you were too tired.

She shook her head vehemently. "There are at least fifteen bedrooms in this ridiculous pile, Booth, although Jenkins can tell you the right number for sure. We've got room for Brennans and Keenans and Booths and anyone else you want to invite. Hell, we could even have the whole team over at New Years', without making a dent in the clean linens or the hot water heaters." Then her smile burst into a full-fledged grin, and she turned on the special Montenegro charm smile. It's almost as good as yours, and about as hard to resist.

"Come on, Booth. You know she'd love it-- Parker, too. We'll leave it as a surprise for now until how we see how she's doing, but it would make her so happy-- all her family and friends?"

I told her yes, and she smiled like the sun, then bounced off to find Jenkins.

Do you want to, Bones? I won't tell her I told you, and if you don't want to, you just let me know and I'll figure out some way to tell her no. But it would be nice. (I think so, too. I'm looking forward to it.)

---------

Hodgins has been growing dandelions in the greenhouse along with those daisies always waiting on the door at the lab-- Jenkins brought us two just-gone-to-seed flowers right as we were headed outside to sit for a bit before going to your doctor's appointment. I'm glad he brought me one for good measure, Bones.

---------

Delia was not happy with me, and for once, you were not happy with Delia giving me her version of hell-- you were giving her a pretty good version of the Evil Booth Glare as she tried to ignore you while she fussed at me. She was mostly just tsking and clucking as she gave me a physical, and as I anticipated, I was as physically fine as was possible under the circumstances. She was grumbling at me about "no more goddamned karate and hysterical strength triggers, Temperance," which really is just her way of noting concern, but really, the bruises aren't really that painful, they just look bad.

There wasn't much I could do when she burst into tears about the fact that I'd lost seven pounds, as well as the fact that I needed to hold on to you to stand upright long enough to stay put on the scale-- like she said, adrenaline-fueled overexertion can do that to you. I wasn't surprised.

"I'm increasing your steroids, and your antiemetics," she sniffled, and then gave me a glare as I handed her tissues. "You'd better be eating every hour on the hour and putting butter on everything."

"I'll do my best," I said, meaning it. I've never had a twelve-foot tree, much less any tree in twelve years, except for the one you brought us last year. I'm looking forward to Christmas.

-----------

I called Sully to touch base after you sacked out a half hour into the chemo. The Director met with him and Sam today to start making a list of what needed doing, and in what order. I gave him the name of Ted Macy's brother for the Director to call, and he filled me in some more on what Paul Rodgers found going through Nick's bank accounts and apartment. Turns out these Romanos were real entrepeneurs, and were trying to make inroads on the local heroin scene. It seemed like he'd been on the take ever since the "Cousins and Brothers" construction company reappeared, and long before Kenton escaped. Goddamned sons of bitches.

"How's Tempe?"

"Exhausted. She lost seven pounds between Sunday and today-- it's like she's eating herself up from the inside. I don't know, Sully. She's just happy this nightmare is over, but I... I just don't know what's going to happen next."

He hissed when I told him how much weight you'd lost. "Booth. I mean... there's not a lot we can do, much less say... but if you need anything..."

"Yeah. I know-- I appreciate it. Look... will you let Cam know what's going on? I've got to make a few more calls before we're done here, and I want to get them done while she's sleeping."

He agreed and we decided he'd call me tomorrow morning once they'd made some more headway with the internal audit, so I rang off. I called my folks to bring them up to speed, then your Dad, who said he'd take care of talking to Russ. Everyone was glad of the new plans for Christmas, and I got it all settled. I'd brought along your laptop, and edited the things for Congressman Wong, then sent them to Alan and Bob to revise and send off. I'm sorry, but I still feel pretentious sending things to our lawyer and accountant, though really, they're great.

I also checked your email-- I scheduled a video conference with Karen and the publisher to discuss the new book proposal, since you're too wobbly to go up to New York. You have a message about the ACS fundraiser in January-- David Keogh set it all up so you're just doing a preview of the new Kathy & Andy, and sent you a proof of the PR release. I forwarded it to Karen-- I know you usually have them approve that stuff, too, and it looked fine to me from our end of things. Tasteful, not all "come see Bones before she pops off" like you were worried about. You've got some questions on final papers from Dan Goodman he needs you to look at, but aside from that, your email inbox looks better than mine right now.

We need to go see Zack soon, too, if you're up to it-- it's been too long since we saw him, and though Jack's been seeing him every week, he's still our responsibility. We've both called a few times and talked to him briefly over the phone, but that's not enough, and aside from the team, the kid hasn't had any visitors since his parents were here at Thanksgiving. We should figure out what's going on with his family for Christmas, too, huh? If they're not going to come up, we'll have to figure out something.

See, Bones, here I am, compartmentalizing like a madman. I can't do a damned thing about the fact that you're practically see-through, but you've given me so many things to do and people to take care of that sometimes it's ten or fifteen whole minutes before I remember all over again how scary this is.

----------

I woke up in the car as you were winding our way up the drive, then parked out in front.

"Home already?" I managed, clearing my throat.

"Mmm-hmm," you responded, coming around to my side to get me out.

"Anything new at the Bureau?" I asked, as you made our way into the house.

"Just that Nick's been on the take for a while-- long before Kenton escaped."

"Well, that makes me feel better," I said drily.

You snorted despite everything. "Yeah, knowing it wasn't personal changes _my_ entire perspective."

I couldn't help it, I started laughing. I needed the release from the last of the emotional tension remaining, and I was tired of crying.

You started laughing so hard in response that you had to stop and put me down on one of the chairs that line the hallways, tears streaming down both our faces. I was whooping and gasping between bursts of laughter, as were you, and Steven stuck his head out of the ballroom to see where the noise was coming from. Once he saw it was us, and you waved him off, he ducked back in, but I was bent over in laughter and you were holding onto the wall, you were laughing so hard. Finally, I started to calm down again, and looked up at you.

"Don't even say it," I gasped as you started to say something, when Jenkins passed by on his way toward the kitchen. He quirked an eyebrow as we continued to giggle and struggle for air, then murmured solemnly after he'd passed us.

His voice floated back to us. "Goose poop."

--------

Once we'd stopped laughing about ten minutes later, we made our way back to the campground, where you settled me in one of the camp chairs. Parker was already sitting at the table, and Steven was helping him with his homework as Angela went around, lighting lanterns in tents and around the table. Daniel came back not too long after with Jenkins, with some snacks but not dinner. I arched an eyebrow at Jenkins. "Sid's still making tuna sandwiches and macaroni and cheese for Master Parker." Parks' ears perked up and he said "I love Mac and Cheese!" Like father, like son.

You looked up at the mention of Sid. "Is he still downstairs?" Jenkins nodded, and with that confirmation you jerked your head at Steven, then got up and headed off toward the kitchen, pulling your map out of your back pocket. See, you're alpha male enough to not be afraid to admit you need a map sometimes. (Can it, Bones, don't remind me, okay?) Steven finished working the math problem with Parker, then said "I've got to go help your Dad with something, why don't you have Temperance help you with the rest?"

We did his addition and subtraction, then moved on to his spelling and other worksheets as Jenkins started mixing another pitcher of drinks, pith helmet fetched from someplace and now perched firmly on top of his head. It looks great with the Hawaiian shirt. "Sidecars?" I asked, after I saw him adding the Triple Sec.

He nodded. "Mmm-hmm, the lemon juice prevents scurvy, very important in tropical climes." He said it seriously, then rolled his eyes at the immediate contradiction of the heat coming to life in the heaters lining the windows. It had been getting colder, the last week or so. Maybe we'll have snow for Christmas.

"What's tropical mean, Bones?" piped Parker. I started explaining about climate zones, Jenkins adding in tidbits about the tropics and tundra. Did you know he was one of the auditors overhauled the per capita income distribution for the Alyeska Pipeline? (Figures. Next thing you know you'll be telling me he helped the people in Nunavut obtain official government status.)(How did you guess?)(I was kidding.)(I wasn't.)(I want a Jenkins.)(I don't know, Booth. It sounds like he takes a lot of vacation and personal time.)(True. He'd probably want time off to rewrite some nation's constitution or something. Either that, or tour with some band.)(Maybe he has a brother?)(I'll ask.)

---------

I met with the guys down in the kitchen-- there hasn't been any trouble, and based on what Sully told me, it seemed like things were actually over. We decided they'd stay on for two more days, just in case, before they went home. Then we talked about Congressman Wong's invitation, and who wanted to do what. We decided who would make what calls and make what other contacts we thought made sense-- Sid said he'd send Mark in to catch up when he came in from his shift and Daniel went out. We hung out a bit more and made plans for getting the guys back home, then just shot the shit, which was great. We'd been so busy with the case that I'd emailed with them all, but it wasn't the same as actually talking. It feels a little surreal-- it's basically over, and I get to hang out with my buddies, but only after discussing perimeter patrols-- while drinking the espressos Sid was pulling from that beast of an espresso machine next to the sink.

Everyone came back upstairs with the stuff Sid fixed for dinner, and Parker dug in with a vengeance. "This is the coolest campout ever!" he exclaimed, taking turns hauling up into everyone's lap, including yours. You stifled a wince when he plopped down, but he didn't notice as he sat forward to haul over more tuna sandwiches and offer you one.

"Thanks, Parker," you murmured, then looked surprised when he told you that you were eating your sandwich wrong.

"How should I eat it?" you asked.

"You have to put potato chips in it," he said, rolling his eyes. Of course, potato chips, the natural accompaniment to a tuna fish sandwich. He must have picked that up at school. He peeled your sandwich apart right away and stuffed in a layer of chips, then handed it back, waiting for you to partake of his gourmet creation. You munched gamely, smiling in between miniscule bites, and satisfied, Parker asked Jenkins politely for some macaroni and cheese. Eventually Parks decided he needed to go sit on Angela, and hopped off to continue doing the rounds. You stifled another wince. You also didn't finish even half your sandwich, though at least you had a few bites of Mac & Cheese. Yours is better than Sid's, though. (Hey, maybe you did marry the right person, after all.)(Hah, hah, wife.)

"Hey, Parks, gentle with Bones, okay?" I said quietly, pulling him off to the side on his way over with Angela. "You can hang out with her as much as you want, just be careful, okay?" He nodded, flicking you a glance as you laughed at something Jack said. (He didn't hurt me Booth, I'm not going to break.)(Look, you were wincing, don't deny it, so humor me, please? He needs to learn not to tackle everyone anyway.)

You fell asleep in your chair about fifteen minutes later.

------

The rest of the week was quiet, thank heaven. We "camped" with Parker when we got home from therapy-- Ange or Jenkins went to get him from school after the guys went home Wednesday morning, and you shooed Sid back off to WF2's. I went into the office in the mornings to work with Sam after dropping off Parker-- we're going to have to tear the whole place down before we can build it back up again.

You hung out with Angela in the sun room in the mornings after finishing up those papers for Daniel Goodman until I got home for lunch with you guys, then we'd go to the doctors and I'd catch up on emails while you sacked out. You don't want to talk about it, I get it, but you're still so wobbly and tired and not looking any better—and I know that green look you get when the food's too much for you after a few bites.

Jack and Ange and you spent some time after dinner each night teaching Parker the basics of wildlife biology and other outdoorsy science stuff, and Jack went over some botany basics, so now Parker loves not just invertebrates but "Rhizomes are awesome! Did you know they're the oldest kind of plant, dad?" Yeah. Prehistoric ferns, I know it, he only told me about three hundred times while Jack smirked and drank cocktails. Whatever. Those things are going to be heavy to cart back to the greenhouse. Who besides Jack has ferns in two-foot wide pots?

We got Christmas settled, and I dropped you back up in our room at Hodgins' house after chemo on Thursday because you were totally sacked-- didn't even make a peep when I carried you all the way back to the bedroom. I didn't want Parks climbing all over you, and Ange said she'd sit with you until you woke up, so I went off to meet Carol and Max at our place to go over the renovation plans.

The house isn't too bad in the larger scope of things, just the carpets that all need replacing and a few dents and holes in the walls in the hallway and living room, and the fact that we'll need all new doors. None of the furniture or paintings got scratched, but there was so much blood on the rugs. Eighteen bullet holes is a lot of rusty brown bloodstains, Bones.

Carol was totally creeped out, but your dad was nonchalant, and told her he'd take care of ripping out the rugs beforehand if she thought it was going to be a problem getting workers in. After Carol left, we packed up a bunch of clothes and other things while we stayed with our little family in those plastic tubs you brought when you moved in, and figured out a plan for moving everything out of the areas where there was going to be construction, as well as to move the more valuable stuff, and the paintings, to your place.

Your Dad's been good at keeping his mouth shut, not that that's a surprise all those years he was on the lam. But I'm glad he never tried to offer any kind of opinion about how you ought to be doing things, or how you've decided-- we've decided-- to handle all this. He loves you and all, but he's lost the right to try to parent you. But he seems to know this, and also seems to be willing to take what he can get. I guess you only get to be an old criminal if you're adaptable, and that's sure your Dad. I checked with Ange to see if you were up before we headed back with all our stuff in the trucks, and she said you'd just gotten up and that Jack had gotten you downstairs. When we got there, Jenkins and Jack came out to unload the stuff into the foyer, at which point Jenkins waved us off, saying "The house elves will take care of the rest. Everyone's off in the camp ground, there's still some leftovers from dinner."

I explained about the camping thing to your Dad, and he was laughing until we got into the ballroom and he saw I really wasn't kidding. "Well, if this is the impromptu campground, Christmas is really going to be something," he said. You and Ange and Parks were working on his homework at the table and Parks was stuffing himself with cookies when we got there. I don't have the heart this week to tell him to stop eating so much sugar.

"Hey, kids," your Dad said.

"Grandpa Max!" Parker yelled, and yeah, your Dad did light up like nobody's business. Looks like Parks got not just a Mama Bear but a Grandpa Bear too, when we got married. The more, the better, in our line of work I guess. Strange bedfellows, that I'm so happy to have a premeditated murderer for my kid's step-grandfather. Max went over to see what you guys were working on, then let Parks drag him off to meet Mr. Stripey the Tiger and Mr. One Horn the Rhino. (Oh-- I forgot to tell you, he named the Elephant Miss Ellie, and the Capibera is now Miss Kate Capibera. There is also Wallace the Warthog, Louis the Lion, and Boris the Bear. Although I don't think Grizzlies are native to safari climes. But we can tell Parker that when he's older.) (Thanks, Bones.)

"What's the camping cocktail tonight?" I asked, as Ange picked up a pitcher of something and poured me an old-fashioned glass full.

"Sazeracs on the rocks," she replied, clinking in some ice cubes from an ice bucket. "And pressed Cubano sandwiches, though they're mostly cold, now," she said, motioning to the small stack of halved sandwiches still left on the plate. "There's also some broccoli salad."

"Yuck on the broccoli," I muttered, then suffered a smack as you said "Shut up, Seeley, I just got Parker to eat some."

"I suppose that means I have to eat some, too?" I asked, teasing. You did look a little more bright-eyed, so maybe you were recovering a little.

"There's bacon in it," you said. Well, fine. If there's bacon in it, it's got to be good.

----

You know, cooked bacon, red grapes, sunflower seeds, salt, pepper and mayo and lightly blanched broccoli are not things I would have thought went together, but it actually works. And, more importantly, Parker came back for more, and wasn't interested in any more sandwiches. Righteous, Bones, he only had one cookie and one brownie for dessert. We might even get him to try brussels sprouts soon. (Don't push it, Booth. He's only six. Brussels sprouts are pretty advanced.)(Yeah, but I like your brussels sprouts...)(You only tried them because I put bacon in them that one time.)(Well, see, you proved my point. Parker's a Booth. If you put bacon in it, he'll try anything, once.)

---

Your dad hung around for a bit looking not happy at all at how you were looking and needing help getting around, but he headed off around nine, saying "I've got to help Billy clean up tonight and get ready for the weekend." It's made a big difference, having your Dad there. Billy's receipts are way up, not because people were trying to gyp him, but because it just got too busy for him to keep track of what was on everyone's tab. Since your Dad's there to split the work on that and take care of all the lifting and carrying that makes Billy too tired to keep the rest of the details straight, it's been a lot calmer behind the bar, and Billy looks a hell of a lot less stressed. And I'm glad he's been staying at your place (or Maureen's) the weekends he's here-- he can keep an eye on the stuff in your place once we get them moved into your guest room. No robber's going to get past your dad.

---

Becs called to say she's going to be back tomorrow, and is going to pick Parks up after school. I'm torn up about how it was, having him the whole week this week. Part of me would love to have him all the time-- seeing him first thing all cuddled up with you in the morning, and having him kick us all night while he's sleeping between us, and watching him be goofy and happy and inquisitive with our little family, and hearing him yell "Daddy!" as soon as I come in the door makes my heart want to explode with happiness. But the other part of me is still remembering the way my heart didn't start beating again until you pulled him down from the hidey hole and I could see you both were fine-- the thought that as long as we do this work, he's potentially in danger, or that what we do puts him in more danger than if I never saw him at all, and acted like I didn't give a damn about my own kid in order to keep him safe-- well, that thought leaves a big black hole in my chest. But I'm being maudlin, when I could be sitting on the floor with you and Jack and Parker next to Boris the Bear, looking at constellations through the telescope Jenkins brought down. See, I didn't know there's a Sea Monster constellation called Cetus. I learn something new from you squints every day.

"Daddy! Come see the Sea Monster! And the Dog Star! Jack says it's called Sirius!"

You're right, Bones. That _is_ why you needed more bullets. Although I don't like the price you're paying-- if I'd had more minutes, you might have needed fewer bullets.


	69. Chapter 69

69.

"Bones?" The voice belonged to a Booth, but was pitched much higher than yours.

"Mmm. Parker, hi. Going to school?" I rolled over, and managed to open my eyes. These nests are comfortable, but they are hard to get out of quickly. I decided to stay put, since Parker was already squatting down right next to me, his face less than a foot from mine. Your son's definition of personal space, at least around me, is almost as nonexistent as yours is. (Tough. You smell too good not to invade your personal space.)

He answered, looking serious. "Mmm-hmm. Mama's gonna pick me up after school and then I won't see you and Daddy until vacation, 'cuz Daddy says Mama's gonna want to see me all through this weekend and next 'cuz she's been so long at Grandma's. 'Cept Sunday, 'cuz Mama says you and Daddy and her and Brent are all gonna come see me be a shepherd at church."

"That's right, pal, that's what's going on." I answered.

"I don't want to go home-- I want to stay with you and Daddy." He looked both guilty and defiant. I would miss him of course, but we can hardly allow him to start getting bratty with Rebecca about spending time with us and our little family, no matter the circumstances.

"Well, we would love it too, buddy, but your mom really misses you, and she wants to spend time with you before Christmas. You're her little boy, and she loves you very much."

"Aren't I your little boy, too?" He sounded uncertain for the first time since we got to Jack and Angela's.

"What did I tell you when the bad men came and you went to the safe place, Parker?"

He smiled, remembering. "That you love me and that I'm a good, brave boy."

"Right. So of course you're my good, brave little boy, just like Daddy's my good, brave big man. But you're your mom's little boy, and Brent's, too-- which is good, because that means you have lots of people who love you. We're all really lucky, because we all get to share you. That's the nice thing about sharing-- we all get to have fun with you, and take turns spending time with you."

"Am I Uncle Jack and Aunt Angela's little boy, too?" He looked over his shoulder to the table, where the three of you were drinking coffee, Ange working away on her sketchpad, and Jack clearly intending on taking the day off, since he'd have left for the lab by now.

"Of course you are. They don't make safaris for just anybody. Only for really special people." He smiled then, reassured for the most part.

"Can I call you if I need help with homework?"

I nodded. "You can call me for anything, though I'm always glad to help with your homework. You can call any of us for anything, Daddy, or me, or Jack, or Angela." He still looked uncertain, though, and I recalled your conversation with him earlier in the week about how "tired" I am. Yes, it's true, but there's no need for him to feel unnecessarily anxious when he's not staying with us.

"How about if I call you every night after supper, maybe at seven, starting tonight, between now and Christmas vacation, and you can tell me what happened that day, and if you need help with homework that your Mom or Brent can't help you with, then we'll go over that, too. Okay?"

He nodded, but then asked, "promise?"

"Promise. And we'll see you on Sunday, we might all even get supper. After your Mom and Brent have gone on vacation, we can all go tree hunting here. You get out two days before Christmas Eve, so when Daddy brings you back here, we'll hang out—and we'll all go out the day before Christmas Eve and help Jack manage his forested land. You remember Russ and Amy's girls? They might come too, they're all coming for Christmas, but Jack's definitely going to need you and Daddy to do most of the cutting, since you're both so big and strong."

"Okay," he said, smiling widely, then bent down for a kiss. I gave him one, then pulled him down for a quick tickle, since as you know it's his surrogate for morning coffee. After having extracted the requisite squealed "Bones! Stop! Bones!" I let go and swatted him on the rump as I pushed him back over to you. He looked over his shoulder and brightened when I said "talk to you tonight, Parker."

"Talk to you later, Bones." He will. I always keep my promises.

* * *

Delia was happier that at least my bruises were fading, and you were really, really unhappy about the fact that I sent you out into the waiting room while I talked with her, since I don't always. I wish you wouldn't give me that pouty face, though. Of course I'm going to tell you everything-- it's just easier, sometimes, to have the conversation twice, first clinical, then later with you when I've had some time to catch up with what I feel about it.

"Booth doesn't like this at all."

Delia looked up for a moment before she continued checking the graze on my shoulder. Was that really only two weeks ago? It feels like a year. At least that was mostly healed.

"Who would? You're not exactly sprightly right now," she replied, (mostly cool, except when she's sniffling) sarcasm fully intact.

"Inhale, and hold for a five count," she said, placing the stethoscope on my back, to confirm that my cold, everything else notwithstanding, seemed to be better. "Not too many wet crackles," she said, then moved it to the other side. "Repeat, please?" I complied, and she said "Well, that's better, at least," then came around, looping her stethoscope back around her neck.

"How's the balance?"

"Lousy. I still can't get up on my own without holding onto something. And I need someone's arm for even short distances. The bathroom is not fun, but fortunately the ones at the house are still maneuverable on my own."

"Feeling any less wobbly?"

"Not really. Not worse, just not better."

"Pains and aches?"

"Aside from the bruises, not too bad. Just tired-feeling. Though clothes are still scratchy." She hmmed again, made a note on her clipboard, and looked up at me again.

"How's the stamina?"

"Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play? What stamina?" She snorted. At least Delia appreciates gallows humor. "Same thing-- no worse, just not better, either."

"Are you eating?" she asked, as she helped me down off the table and over to the scale.

"I'm trying." I thought for a minute. "I can eat most things, but only a few bites at a time. It makes me too nauseous otherwise. Even Sidney's food." She frowned. Sidney did, too, the first time I turned green after he'd made us dinner for "camping" and brought me a milkshake. He's personally affronted by the fact that the cancer has stopped yielding to his cooking. I'm sure he'll come up with something, though. It was a rough week for all of us.

"What about sleeping?"

I snorted this time, then shook my head in disgust. "When am I not sleeping?" It's not a good sign, I know that full well. "Anywhere and everywhere. In the car, in the middle of conversations, in the bathtub, in a chair—I'm a regular poster child for the National Narcolepsy Foundation these days. I feel like I should start taping conversations just so I don't waste people's time asking them to recount what I've missed."

"Mmm," Delia said noncommittally, then said "say ah," as she looked down my throat. That finished, she looked me straight in the eye, sniffled, and then said, her voice thick but steady, "What's worrying you more? The waking up and having missed what was going on while you were out, or the falling asleep unexpectedly, and not saying goodnight… or goodbye… beforehand?"

"Both." I knew that. I've just been avoiding thinking too much about it.

"And you don't want to say either until it's actually time."

"No."

"Do you think it is?"

"No." I hoped not, at least.

"Do you want it to be?" She was relentless with the questions today. Do I want it to be? I'm not that tired.

"No." I meant it.

"Then it's not." She said it so firmly, and it was nice to have someone believe it—or act like they did. It's been a rough few weeks for certainty for both of us.

"So… let's talk about what you're doing for Christmas, and whether you and Seeley will stand up with Henry and me when we get married in March."

Oh, that was a nice surprise—I mean, we knew he was planning on asking, but he must have just done for it (gone for it, Bones, gone) after we talked to him, rather than waiting for Christmas.

"Where's your ring?" I asked half-sarcastically, half-eagerly. Delia asked me back when we first started seeing her why I agreed to wear one, since we're rather similar in our feminist outlooks—she was curious, since I'm neither a romantic nor a proponent of jewelry traditionally perceived as staking an ownership claim over a woman-- so I told her why, all that aside, I wore mine.

She smiled, half-sheepish, half-proud, and pulled out a chain from around her neck. It was a yellow-gold set antique solitaire diamond, and I smiled involuntarily. It was lovely, and suited Delia well.

"His grandmother's," she said. "Did you know she was the first female graduate at the med school here?"

"Then it's perfect."

She smiled. "I can't get the setting changed, because it's an antique, and it doesn't fit under the gloves without snagging, but I can at least wear it next to my heart, and let it mean what it means."

I smiled again and repeated the reason I gave her back in September—was that only three and a half months ago? "Because it just means somebody loves you."

She smiled, and we both sniffled. Temperance Brennan, snot-nosed sentimentalist. Delia, too.

"Giant contagious love machine, Celia. We'd love to."

I really want to go, Seeley. All those years of opposition to state-sanctioned marriage and now I can't get enough of it, although I maintain that it's the familial and personal community aspect of it that is the only important part. I could give a flying pig about the rest of it. (Fig, Bones, not pig.)(I like pigs. And they're as improbable as a piece of self-propelling airborne fruit.) Plus, it gives me one more commitment I have to show up for. So far we've got Parker's Christmas play this Sunday and Christmas and New Year's, the ACS fundraiser at the end of January, the FBI ball in February as well as Jack and Angela's wedding on Valentine's day, and now Henry and Delia's wedding in March. Clark mentioned again that he wants the whole team to come down at apple-blossom time. My social calendar's simply too booked for me not to hang around to fulfill all my commitments.

* * *

I woke up as you got back upstairs to our room and you were tucking me into bed —we'd abandoned the "campground" for the time being, though Jack and Jenkins are leaving it up until Hayley and Emma and Parker are gone after Christmas. Parker is graciously looking forward to sharing Mr. Stripey and Miss Ellie with them.

"Time is it?"

"Five thirty."

"Got to call Parker at seven."

You slid in, kicking your sneakers off somewhere behind you, your voice low in my ear as you pulled me to you, then pulled the covers over us both. "Got it, I already set the alarm for an hour for now."

"Mmm. We're old, or you are if you're taking a nap, too."

You tightened your grip, but just said "Not old enough yet, Bones. '_Grow old along with me! /The best is yet to be / The last of life, for which the first was made…_'"

It's not a happy poem, and I don't agree with the obvious religious elements of Rabbi Ben Ezra's ruminations, but Browning's right to remind us-- "_Be our joys three-parts pain!/ Strive, and hold cheap the strain/ Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!_" I don't grudge the throe, not for any of it—the one part joy versus the rest is worth it.

* * *

You woke me in plenty of time for me to call Parker, and while I was on the phone you called downstairs to see what was on for dinner.

I handed you the phone after telling Parker goodnight, then debated whether to stay dressed or change. I might as well, I decided. We'd be staying here for a month at least, and Jack and Angela had already seen me at my worst. Jenkins probably won't care if I come to dinner in my robe and pyjamas—I mean, did you see that pink shirt with the bird of paradise flowers on it he was wearing yesterday? That one's worse than your beach umbrella tie. (I thought it was snazzy.) (You would.)

* * *

"So, what's the deep for supper?"

"Deal, sweetheart, deal. Pizza and beer or zinfandel. Ange said she'd ordered one veggie, one meat lover's, some salad and tiramisu."

"Are we going to the kitchen?"

"No—sunroom. It's warmer."

"Plus you can find your way there. Unlike the kitchen."

"Can it, Bones." (Fine. How many turns?) (Two rights and a left after we hit the first stairwell past the foyer.)(Very good, Booth, though I'm pretty sure you just looked up the directions in this diary instead of actually remembering the way. But whatever gets you asking directions.)(Punk.)(Yes, Seeley, we've established that.)

* * *

"Bren, you've got to be kidding me."

"Double B, dear, really? That's my favorite movie ever, well, right up there with _Princess Bride_."

"Bones… are you serious?"

The three of you were looking at me in shock, as if I'd just announced that I was the Queen of Bali, or that I thought I was Jesus Christ. I'm hardly delusional. Whether or not you believe it, it's true. Some people really haven't seen _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_.

"Um… yes." I don't get you people, sometimes. I had _books_ to read and extra-credit homework to do and extracurricular activities to attend. Why on earth would I go to the movies when there were Math Team and Academic Challenge Cup meetings to attend?

Although… I did watch _DeGrassi Junior High_ for a bit. Canadians are good at well-written teenaged melodramas. And have you seen the CBC's _Anne of Green Gables_? She's a very strong female character. We should make Parker read the books when he's older.

It was rather funny seeing Jack scramble up to go find the movie in the media room, exiting into the hallway only to call down the stairs toward the kitchen "Jenkins? Where the hell is the media room? And do we have a copy of _Ferris Bueller_?" There was no immediate response, and I heard him call again. "Jenkins? Jenkins?"

I don't understand why, however, you and Angela intoned "Bueller?" immediately after.

* * *

"I can't possibly understand how the producers and stunt directors would think that the scene with the overpriced, substitute phallus motor vehicle in any way complied with standard physical principles of leverage and inertia-- the content of the scene was not just improbable, but completely impossible. Certainly, when the screenplay adaptation of my book is completed, I will be making certain that the scientific scenes are accurate both in the script and in the dailies. Honestly, Jack, I don't understand how such a blatant incongruity doesn't bother you." (Listen to you, Bones. "When my movie is ready to film…" Not everyone retains script control, Bones.)(Then they should. Alan did a nice job with my contract.)

"Double B…" He was just shaking his head, looking pained. Fine. I threw him a boon. (Bone, Bones, not boon. You'd think you'd know that one, at least.)(Punk.)(Hey! That's my line!)(Tough. You're a punk, husband.)(Heh.)

"I did like that Ben Stein, however. He was quite amusing."

"Thank God for small mercies," muttered Jack.

Ange just looked amused, at least until she said, "Well, at least you've seen _Breakfast Club_," and I just shook my head.

She sprung up almost as quickly as Jack, yelling "Jenkins? _Breakfast Club_? Tell me we have it!" as she ran out into the hall.

What? I had track practice. (I didn't know you ran track, Bones.)(I was an all-state medalist my sophomore year, too.)(Jock.)(Seeley, track geeks are not jocks.)(Okay, fine, you've got me there.)

* * *

I managed to stay awake all the way through both movies, and was irrationally pleased with myself for doing so. Too, I managed a piece and a half of pizza and two whole bites of tiramisu. I think it was the nice Zinfandel that did it. The things I'm proud of these days. Next thing you know I'll be all "woo-hoo! I blinked!" I hate this.

* * *

You slid into bed after leaving the bathroom only to act surprised that I'd taken my pyjamas off before getting back into bed. Why wouldn't I? We're not camping downstairs where anyone can walk in, so we're not giving Sidney or Jenkins a show. And Parker's gone for a few days.

"Why are you wearing pyjama pants?" I asked, turning toward you as you were pulling the covers up.

"Umm… I thought you were?" Great. You're wearing that '_she's too fragile_' look again.

"Since when have I worn pyjamas if someone wasn't going to walk in on us besides Parker?"

"Umm… never?" Well, at least you're not avoiding the subject.

"So…"

You looked sheepish as you got undressed again, then slid back into bed and pulled me against you, facing you. You buried your head in my shoulder as you shifted me so I was lying atop your leg and your arm, cradling me from beneath. "Sorry," you mumbled into my hair.

"Don't apologize, just… try to be normal. I'll let you know if I need to something different, okay?" I asked, stroking your hair.

"Okay," came your voice from the depths of my shoulder. I know it's hard, Booth, harder on you and everyone else than for me. I don't have to watch it _and_ put up with it _and_ not be able to do anything about it. I just have to put up with it and figure out what I can do, which I admit right now isn't anywhere approaching what I'd like to. But you still need to let me figure that out, okay? I'll let you know—I have so far.

"Good. You can kiss me now." You snorted at my magnanimous boon, as I intended, then pulled back enough to give me a kiss.

"Handsome man," I said, then kissed you again.

"Pretty lady," you replied, then kissed me again.

"80s movie buff" I murmured against your lips.

"Nerd," you replied, then deepened the kiss.

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

I ran my hands over your chest and shoulders, enjoying the feel of you under my hands. Your hand not already under me started stroking its way over my skin.

I love feeling how solid you are, the warmth of your skin under my hands, the smell and taste of you under my mouth. Those "guy hugs" were quite trying, I'll have you know.

I was tasting my way across your chest as you bent to kiss the side of my neck, your hand at my nape pulling my head back so you could nip and suck from my jaw to my collarbone. You had thickened and hardened between us, and I hitched my top leg up over yours so I could press myself closer to you. You grunted as I shifted until your length rested against my slickening core, your hand in my hair pulling my head further back as your mouth made its way down the bared front of my neck, your tongue swirling and flicking across my sensitized skin.

Your other hand was stroking its way up my belly even as I was tracing my fingers over the now-healing welts I'd scratched into you earlier this week—I only hope I haven't added to your already too many scars. I writhed against you instinctively when you circled my nipple with one teasing finger, then repeated the motion, your tongue still laving strokes along my neck and in the hollow of my collarbone. Your hand in my hair, exposing my neck to you, made it impossible for me to taste you in return, and your mouth and hands continued to tease me. My hands on you changed from caressing to clinging as my fever built, my hips grinding into you of their own accord as your fingers rolling my nipples and your relentless mouth left me gasping. You shifted after I moaned at one firmer kneading press of your fingers on my breast, the hand at my breast leaving to hitch the leg I'd slung over your hip up further, then rolled me back far enough to enter me in one long stroke.

"Oh, God, Seeley," I couldn't help moaning now that you were inside me, shifting us back onto our sides again as you completed your thrust.

Your own gasped "Bones" was hot on my neck, and our mouths met in a kiss, both of us already breathless from finally being alone to come home again.

With your hand holding me under my top leg, pulling me up to ease your entry, and our legs scissored together, I arched in to meet your slow, shallow thrusts as I grasped your shoulders more tightly, needing more leverage, needing more _you_. Your hand at my neck kept my mouth sealed to yours, and I grasped your neck in return, holding you to me as I sought your tongue, needing your breath in my mouth to replace each breath your withdrawals and returns stole from me. I broke the kiss to gasp for air at some point, then cried aloud as you pulled my leg up further and surged more deeply into me.

"I … oh… more," I managed, striving to meet your thrusts as you sped the pace, clinging harder to you to anchor myself. "Need you…" I moaned as you filled me firmly again.

You sped the pace again, groaning "have me" as you pressed my chest into yours, the quick rocking thrusts of our heat joining quickly bringing me to the edge until I was nothing but spikes of need from my core, erupting from my throat in moans of "more," or "please," or "Booth" until I could no longer hear the cries I knew I was making—all I could feel was needing _more_ even as I was overwhelmed by what you were already giving me.

I don't know at what point it was enough—all I know is that I was finally full enough, then overflowed-- the sheer volume of it plunged me into sensory overload. I only gradually began to hear myself whimpering in the aftermath, could once again feel the shudders of release still rocking within, could see the look on your face as you sped your pace again as I recovered, your arm still pressing me to you as you panted "have everything." You reached between us to send me over the edge again, and any sense of everything before was obliterated by the new release and your own explosion within me as my clenching walls pulled you deeper, the pulsing heat of you pushing me further until I was overloaded, overwhelmed, blissfully so.

"Everything," I managed, regaining myself to find myself curled beside and atop you, your heart hammering under my ear as your arms clasped me to you.

"Everything, Bones."


	70. Chapter 70

70

"Go!" you yelled, throwing my boot at my head from where you were sitting on the chaise lounge in front of the balcony doors in our room. That wasn't there at the time of the wedding, but it wasn't December then, and you were friskier, too. But that boot toss-- damn, Bones, you've got better aim than I do, sometimes, good thing my reflexes are still sharp. That boot would have hurt if it hit me, it's steel reinforced, so forget what I just said about your not being frisky.

"But…" Still, Bones. Primal instincts and all… (Don't you pull that on me, Seeley Michael Booth-Brennan.) (Yuck with the full name. Sorry.)

"I already called Angela!" you yelled. "She's coming up with some breakfast and she's going to hang out with me until you get back from your run. That is, if you ever go…" you glared at me, but just then Angela bumped in with a tray of breakfast for two. Catching the glare you were giving me, she snorted.

"Special Agent Hottie McWorrywart here too busy fussing at you for you to tell him I was on my way up?" Then she gave me a leer at my running tights and made me turn red—that woman's incorrigible, almost as bad at my mom. I knew I should have put a pair of sweats on instead—but they just don't breathe as well and they hold too much sweat when it's cold out, you know? (Seeley Booth-Brennan, outdoor apparel geek.) (Hey, you're the one with three different sets of long underwear and four gore-tex parka and pants suits.) (Fine. You dig in Kurdistan during rainy season. It's cold up in those mountains. Wet, too.)

"Something like that," I mumbled, then grabbed my pullover. You know, you should really just cut me off before I even start talking. You know, a preemptive strike against my putting my foot in my mouth or something like that.

---

I hit the ground floor then headed out toward the sunroom, which is pretty much the only way I know how to get in and out of the house, especially to the back gardens and the lake. But at least I know my way there by heart. I was just coming out of the sunroom onto the back patio when Jack came out some side door at an angle to where I was coming from, kitted out in running clothes too.

"Hey, brother," he called. "You going out?"

"Yeah…" I said. "Been a while since I did anything besides run like a gerbil on a treadmill, thought I'd get a run outside before the snow hits."

"Want company?" He looked almost hesitant offering-- I wondered if it was more about whether I wanted company than whether I thought he could keep up with me. He's in pretty good shape—and I wasn't planning on really training, just getting outside.

"Sure. But I thought you liked biking better," I said, as we set off, starting slow through the gardens.

He grinned and answered. "I do… but I've got to check out the elms by the lake, I had a bad _Lepidoptera_ infestation this summer and I may need to deal with dead limbs and branches—it's easier to see what damage needs cleaning up once the leaves are down. Easier to do that on foot."

"What? No resident arborist?"

He laughed as we hit the path off to the lake. "Nah. I do a joint 'field trip' class for the forestry schools at Virginia Tech, Duke and NCSU once I've figured out what needs work, then the profs and I set 'em loose one long weekend and see if they come up with the same stuff we do. Then they get to do all the dirty work, cutting it down and hauling the dead wood off for samples."

I shot him a glance. "You squints are something, you know that? Everything's a learning experience. And that's a good thing," I added at the end, lest he think I was complaining.

He smiled lopsidedly. "Well, a day's wasted if you haven't learned something new, I figure. Life's too short to do the same old thing every day."

I grunted agreement as we hit the trail, then shot him a grin as I took in the well-kept trail. No bumps or snake holes to trip over and screw up my knees. "You gonna keep up?" I asked, as I picked up the pace.

"I'm wasted on cross-country. I'm a natural sprinter… very dangerous over short distances!" he said, grinning, then took off. Nerdy bastard. Thinks he can drop a _Lord of the Rings_ movie reference on me like that and get away with it? I'll show him. I bet he thinks I don't know what he's talking about.

I caught him 15 yards up ahead, yelled "Come and get it, dwarf-boy," and booked it past.

He did well the next 50 yards, almost caught up to me, then yelled "Forget it!" when I let him draw even only to take off on him again. I slowed when I'd put another 20 yards on, and jogged backwards until he caught up, panting a little. Hah. I love Jack, but I've got to retain a little alpha-male status around here, you know?

"You're fast," he managed as he fell into step beside me again.

I didn't bother looking at him as I said "my middle name's actually Shadowfax, not Michael."

Jack's funny when he's falling over with laughter.

---

We stopped horsing around and took the rest of the run mostly in silence so he could check out his trees—it would be a forestry geek's happiest dream to come true, running around in here—but about three quarters of the way around the lake again, he nodded to himself and said "not as much dead wood as I thought."

"Decided on the deciduous decedents?" I asked straight-faced, and he snorted again.

"Etymological nerd."

"Entonomological nerd."

"Jackass."

"Jerkface." He smiled at the men-dearment (oh, Booth, very clever) and waved off in the general direction of the Christmas tree section of things, explaining a bit about the stuff he needed to check out when we took Parks and the kids out to get the tree.

"Are you sure it's alright about Christmas?" I asked, worrying. "It's a lot of people to take over the house, but Bones and I are already putting you out crashing here and I know Angela said it was okay, but… "

He shot me a look like I had two heads. "Angie's dad came and spent Christmas with us last year-- that was two more people than I've spent most of the last fifteen Christmases with. You can have every physical thing in the world, and it doesn't mean anything if there's no one to share it with. So, yes, I'm sure." He paused, then started talking again.

"I worked a lot of late nights before Angie and I got together just because this pile's so empty—but if I was over in one of the side labs, a whole day could go by without my talking with anyone, at least before Dr. B hired Zack-o. No matter what, though, Dr. B _always _stuck her head in to say goodnight if she left before me, as much as regular chit-chat made her uncomfortable."

By this time, we'd hit the path heading back up to the house, and we'd both slowed to a walk as he kept talking. "Home—family—it's wherever someone cares enough to wish you goodnight. So, yeah, it's more than alright. I'm looking forward to it—Angie and I both are."

Goddamnit, Bones. I'm going to have to start carrying a packet of tissues up my sleeve like my Grandma if he keeps saying stuff like that.

---

We chilled out most of the rest of the day, and you shooed Jenkins out of the kitchen when the four of us came down mid-afternoon for some coffee and tea and so you could decide what you were making for dinner.

"Jenkins!" you said when I carried you in, sending him that charm smile you give guys your Dad's age and older, the ones that make them fawn all over you.

"Yes, Madame Temperance," he intoned, droll expression as always intact, but that's just his way of fawning all over you.

"I still owe you and Caroline Gladys Knight tickets, but Dr. John's playing at Blues Alley tonight and I took the liberty of calling to ask them to hold you a table in case you were interested."

Damn—I thought that orange and neon green Hawaiian shirt he had on was bright, but that smile when he said "I love Dr. John!" Yeah, Bones, fawning all over you.

---

I actually made it to confession right before lunchtime on Thursday—didn't really tell anyone where I was going, because most agents wouldn't think you would need to feel bad about killing a backstabbing ex-partner, but well, you know how it is. Anyway, I knew Parker's play was this weekend and it'd been too long since I got to Mass anyway, so we took Parks and then you and I went to the "fellowship" hour after Mass while Parks scrambled off to get into "costume," though a brown terry cloth bathrobe and a red dishtowel tied with a blue ribbon over his head is not my idea of a costume (okay, Mr. Musical Theater). I went out to meet Jack and Ange and Becs and Brent while you guarded seats, and recovered from all the nosy old ladies who keep asking you to come read at their book club. I think they just think they'll get their jollies off better if someone under 60 reads the smutty parts of your books aloud. (Thanks, Booth. Glad to know my books are the favored masturbatory aid among little old Catholic ladies.) (Um, eew.) (You started it.) I'd left our coats just in case, but I was pretty sure you'd EDG anyone who got in the way of our taking the six center aisle seats just a few rows back from the front.

I've never been on the parent side of the parish hall stage before—but it smelt the same as any other parish hall, like scorched coffee, and popcorn, and floor polish, and it sounded the same—like squeaking folding chairs and creaky floorboards and whispering or coughing parents and little kids on the stage who failed at stage whispering "I can't remember my line!"

Parks, of course, was the best of everyone. Man, that kid they picked to play Gabriel for the Annunciation bit at the start couldn't remember his lines out worth a darn, and what was going on with the kid playing Joseph? It was like he was mumbling marbles or something. Parks, in contrast, remembered all of his lines, and while, yeah, they were all delivered at the top of his lungs ("Let's go to Bethlehem like the angels said to!") and ("Look! He has swaddling clothes, and he's lying in a manger!")—at least you could hear him and understand what the heck he was saying. Although I don't think the rest of the audience understood why, precisely, the six of us cracked up hysterically when he ad-libbed a little, and said "Now we can back to keep watching our flock of sheep by night while they ruminate, 'cuz sheep are even-toed ungulates just like giraffes so they're _cool_…"

Geez, Bones. Helping him with his lines much?

---

"Bones, why did Sister Mary Joseph tell me after the show that sheep don't squirm 'cuz they're herd beasts?"

You sat across the table from him in the big Booth at Sid's that all seven of us crammed into, and looked puzzled for a moment. "Oh… she much have thought you said _undulate_, which means something or someone that's moving wavily or squirmily, rather than _ungulate_, which you already understand. I'll give her a call and correct her misunderstanding about the terminology tomorrow. Really—I thought she taught science at the parish school—thank goodness you don't go there, then, Parker. You were perfectly right to identify sheep as an even-toed ungulate ruminant, and likewise remembered correctly that giraffes are even-toed ungulates too."

Brent snorted, then laughed aloud as Parker said, "And pigs too. Mama, did you know that pigs are very intelligent, and the reason they like mud isn't 'cuz they're dirty but because they can't sweat and the mud cools them off and keeps them from getting sundburned?" Again with the pigs, Bones, huh?

Rebecca smiled and sniffled, then blew her nose in the tissue I handed her. "I didn't know that, Parker," she said, sniffling again. "Did Temperance teach you that?"

"Yeah, and Jack and Angela too," he responded. Parker started telling her all about Wallace the Warthog, which inevitably led to a discussion of Mr. Stripey and the fact that they tigers are obligate carnivores who have been driven from their natural habitat "and that's why they eat people 'cuz if we just left 'em alone they'd be _fine_." At least he managed to give me some credit and declaimed the first few lines of Blake's _The Tiger_ correctly.

Sid started laughing while he came out with everyone's orders as Parker then started in on elephant and rhinoceros tusks and how "rhinos are ungulates too, and their tusks are made of the same stuff as hair, not like elephants, they have teeth, those are different."

"You still on that Parker? I thought you were more into ferns these days." he asked, sliding him his meatloaf, mac and cheese and broccoli salad. Becs looked on in surprise as Parks tackled the broccoli first, then mumbled around his food, "Nah, Sidney. Rhizomes are cool, but mammals are better. In-vert-e-brates are still best, though."

Okay—I can see why Parks gets away with Sidney, I mean, he got it from you, and it's all well and good for him to get all squinty and poetic and stuff, but he's _got_ to stop talking with his mouth full.

"Parker, that's gross," you said, just as I was saying "Mouth closed when you chew, little man," and Rebecca added "Not with your mouth full, honey."

Jack, Ange, Sid and Brent were just a second behind with their own versions of '_Don't talk with your mouth full_' and Parker looked around at everyone in amazement and more than a little disgust.

"At least I'm _eating_ my broccoli," he grumbled, again while still chewing. "Give me some credit, geez."

He does have a point.

---

You sacked out a little bit in the car on the way back to Hodgins' hacienda, but woke up again when I stopped the car inside the garage, next to my other baby. (Well, at least I'm on equal terms with your car.) (Nah, Bones, you're worth a million Mustangs.) (So sweet, husband.) (Hah.)

"Home already?" you asked, when I scooped you out. You did really well at church getting mostly around on your own (Yes, walking, woo-hoo!), but you were pretty tired by the time we got to Sid's, and got a little winded on the way back to the car, after forbearing Rebecca's really almost hysterically teary goodbye. (Don't make fun of her, Seeley.)

"Mmm-hmm," I said, and we went up the drive, Jack and Angela following. Just as we were peeling off for our part of the house, you called out "Goodnight Jack, goodnight Angela."

"'Night, Dr. B, 'night Booth" Hodgins replied, then murmured "Home sweet home," under his breath as he and Ange headed off.

Yeah, it is.


	71. Chapter 71

71.

"Come on!" yelled Parker as he grabbed Hallie and Emma by the hand and tugged them to follow him. "You're gonna love Mr. One Horn and Miss Ellie! They're sooooo cooool!" he exhaled, dragging them toward the ballroom, while Russ and Amy followed along.

"How's she doing?" your Dad asked, as we gathered the bags from the back of his truck and Russ and Amy's car, and headed up to the rooms Jenkins drew me a map too. Why the hell do all the bedrooms have to be three flights or more up? You'd think they could have put some of the libraries and game rooms and smoking and card rooms on higher floors, and not shove them all on the first and second floors.

"A little better. She's eating more—not hungry, yet, but she's not turning green so much, either. She's still really tired, though, and no real stamina to speak of, though her balance is almost back to where it was before."

Your father grunted. "So, merely lousy, rather than non-existent."

"Basically."

"Is she going to be able to go back to the lab anytime soon?"

I sighed. "I don't know. We had one case last week, but Sully and Clark took care of it, Clark just asked her to check a few things over the computer, but he was all good. Maybe after New Year's. She's usually good for about three hours now before she sacks out again, and she's got chemo everything but the weekend anyway. If she gets a little less wobbly, then she won't need someone to lean on except for the platform stairs, but right now-- she's still having trouble getting up and down on her own, and she doesn't want to go back into work like that. Ange's stayed home except for two days, one day for the Angelator on a case and once when she went in to do the reconstructions on a bunch of Limbo skulls Clark and Anne brought over. Guess Clark doesn't feel completely comfortable with all the tissue marker stuff, he was doing all injury and court stuff, not so much identification before, and Anne needs to learn, so they brought over a bucket of skulls and set up in the kitchen so Bones could show them how."

Max made a face, and I snorted. "Yeah. Gross. All those eye sockets when I was trying to make lasagna. But she did some stuff over the computer with them, too, when Cam wanted her opinion on a bleeder with a weird set of fractures on the x-rays."

"Bleeder?" your Dad asked.

"Fresh body, less than two or three days old, before the real decay sets in."

"Euugghh," your Dad said. Max Keenan, vigilante executioner, grossed out by dead bodies?

I shot him a look, and he caught it, then grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. But… that doesn't make it any less gross. Especially brains. Better to stick to things that don't cause too much spatter. Bodies are so messy."

I couldn't help it, I laughed. "Cam makes fun of Bones about her distaste for tissue by calling it '_bone wrapping_.' Must run in the family."

Max snorted. "Distaste for bone wrapping and cooked fruit. That's my girl."

"When is this round over?" he asked, after we plopped the stuff into the two rooms he'd set aside for Russ and Amy and the girls.

"Three weeks…" I answered. I didn't want to think about what would happen with the tests at the end of this round, not yet.

He shot me a look as I trailed off, and changed the subject. "What's happening with that clusterfuck at the Bureau?"

"Not a lot and too much…" I said. "Can't really talk about it until it's all settled, sorry," I said. He just nodded as we headed back downstairs.

Clusterfuck is right. So far, just in the last week and a half, we've found two more rats under Nick in his RICO unit, another rat in Evidence, and the evidence chief was ready to jump off the roof. Harper, too, the more we found out about how deep in Santana was. He was going to have to reopen a bunch of cases Santana declared dead ends, once Ted Macy's brother gave the financials of the suspects a lookover. I can't feel too bad for the bastard, though. When Sam and the Director and I took that first pass through those files, all those unfollowed leads jumped right off the page. If Harper'd been paying any attention to those reports when he signed off on them, he'd have seen them. He'll probably get knocked back to Agent—maybe they'll can him. Not my problem, except that his incredible incompetence… well, anyway.

Not only were we going to have to find a new Special Agent In Charge for RICO, but the whole department was going to have to be shaken up in order to make sure there weren't any more rats. I'd probably have to split it with Sam for the time being—half the other RICO units on the coast were busy with that big investigation I was telling you about. We'd had someone come in from Internal in Manhattan and Baltimore just to help out, and make sure our own Internal wasn't in it elbow-deep, too. Thank goodness a lot of this crap can be scanned so I can work on it while we're at therapy—and that the Director doesn't mind emails instead of in-persons. And thank God Sully's been able to take a second look at some of this shit, too, since that case with Clark only took three days. Poor Rodgers has been busting his hump hard enough just keeping the administrative shit to a slow burn. But budget hearings in March are going to suck big time, especially if we can't get this shit under control by then. All I can say is as much as a pain in their ass as my jockeys and baby agents may think I am, at least no one thinks my department's dirty.

When we found our way back to the campground, your Dad laughed to find Emma and Hallie bossing Parker around about setting out cookies and punch on the table for midmorning snack as Russ and Amy explored the stuffed animals.

"He's very obliging," he said with a smile as he made up little plates of cookies and cups of punch and plopped them down for each of them and dropped a kiss on both of their cheeks.

"He's a Booth. He likes girls," I said, although yeah, it's going to suck when he hits puberty. We've got to talk to him before he goes back to school about kissing girls so much, I guess. Two weeks hanging out with us and huggy-kissy Hodgela and he's all French & handsy. Cute, but still. It's one thing when it's you or Ange, but some teacher's going to get the wrong idea if he starts kissing all his little friends at school, too.

"I don't think the girls are going to want to go upstairs," your Dad said. "Someone's going to have to sleep down here with them if that's the case."

"Those beds are pretty comfy, there, Grandpa Max," I said, then slapped him on the shoulder and turned to find you squints. "You know you want to camp in a ballroom full of taxidermied animals, admit it. And you probably can fill in whatever the hell gaps Bones and Hodgins left… I don't think they did all the stars in the night sky yet."

He snorted, then sighed. "Fine. But don't think I'm not making your brother or father keep me company too. Pony rides bother my knees, and they're both bigger than me. They can haul Hallie around."

"Done. You get to tell my Dad, though," I said.

"When are your parents getting here?" he asked.

"Tonight," I answered, looking at my watch. "Jared was going to drive down with them after he got in from some trip this morning, so they're probably not going to start off until well after lunch. We'll have the tree cut and back here by then, I hope, though I don't know about getting the thing up."

Your Dad shook his head. "Well—you, Russ, Jack, and me? Maybe Jenkins? Between the four or five of us we ought to be able to find some way to get it up."

"Jenkins promised me they have something big enough to stand it in, and that there are enough ladders and lights and ornaments. I've got no choice to believe him, given the whole campground thing, but how he's going to get it all down while we're out with the kids… he just keeps saying '_house elves_' whenever I ask him."

"Well," said your Dad. "'Tis the season for elves. You never know."

* * *

"This one!"

"No! This one!"

"No! Neither of those! This one!" Hallie yelled, pointing to another tree that had a straighter trunk and fuller branches than either of the ones Parks and Emma pointed out. Finally.

We'd been following them around for almost a half hour after lunch while the three of them debated which tree was the "bestest" tree of all the trees to cut down, and Jack tagged the ones he wanted thinned with orange tape. We got slowed down a little when Parks wanted to know what Jack was doing and then got off on a tangent about forestry principles, but your Dad joined me in insisting "Kids, it's too cold today to learn about how to be an arborist, let's pick out a tree and Jack can take you kids out sometime when we don't have a chainsaw to lug around," which at least got them back on track for looking for a tree.

Russ didn't bother chiming in, but then again, he's the mechanic, so he got stuck with the chainsaw, which looked pretty heavy.

"Want me to take a turn with that, Russ?" I asked, and he shook his head. "Nah. I got it. Besides, you guys are going to have to carry the tree, which is going to be way more of a pain than this."

He was watching Hallie caper ahead of us as the three of them bickered over trees until she found the one that they all stood in front of, judging from all angles like they were art critics at a gallery opening or something.

"She's doing well, hunh?" She'd been trotting along with everyone else without a wheeze as your Dad and Jack followed them and Russ and I brought up the rear, and seemed to have gained a little weight.

"Yeah. That specialist Tempe recommended has been wonderful—there's a lot of different medications and therapies to keep up with, but they make such a difference. She's only had one cold so far this fall, and she got over it pretty quickly." He shook his head. "Amazing, compared to how she was last year. The medicine's worked such a miracle."

We caught up with the kids at that point and the three of them were still checking out the three from all angles.

"I don't know, kids," your Dad teased. "We've only looked at about two hundred trees. How do you know there won't be a better one once we look at another hundred?"

They all looked thoughtful for a moment, Parker adopting that look Jack gets when he strokes his chin and looks up while he's thinking. Great. More squint rub-off. He was still looking up when a big grin burst out on his face.

"It's the right tree because it's _snowing_," he said with a reverent tone, and sure as the Pope's Catholic, the first few flakes started coming down. White Christmas, Bones. Hallie and Emma looked up and squealed in agreement. Thank goodness we made them all bundle up before we left the house.

Russ cut through that sucker like butter, and your Dad and I caught it and held it while Jack trimmed off the lower branches with a hacksaw, the kids singing some "it's snowing" song they made up on the spot.

I was glad that we didn't go any further in because that tree was damned heavy, and your Dad and I were sweating up a storm when we got back to the truck. Jack was taking turns giving the kids rides on his shoulders back to the truck as the other two took turns running around and screaming like banshees about snow men and snow balls and snow angels. (We should make some snow women, too, Booth, it's sexist to assume that anthropomorphized snow sculptures only come in one gender. And it would be a good opportunity to teach the children about the anatomical differences between men and women.) (No. Just, no. I mean, we'll make gender-neutral snow people, fine. Anatomy lessons? No. I'll get my ass kicked if my six-year old starts telling his classmates about bodies with all the correct Latin names. Just… wait another year or two, okay?) (You're stinting their education.) (Bones. Parker and Emma are _six_. They don't need to know what a vas deferens is for another few years, okay.) (I suppose so.) (Thank you.)

There was a good half inch on the ground when we got back to the house— it'll be good if we get some real snow, we usually don't get more than an inch or two this early in the year. But with the kids—it'll be great, especially since there's enough room just on the patio for a whole army of snow people.

* * *

Jenkins hauled the kids off to dump their shoes and overthings and go downstairs to have some cocoa. "Temperance and Angela have concocted a new hot chocolate recipe, and have been making various cookie batters for the children to help roll out and bake."

"What kind of cookies?"

Jenkins rolled his eyes. "The sooner you manly men get the tree up so the snow can melt off, the sooner you can come down and help."

Fine. Getting the tree up it is.

* * *

"It's not straight." Jack was frowning and stroking his beard.

"Jack. Put the goddamned laser level away. It's fine."

"Yeah. I'm with Booth on this one." Russ was standing off to the side with me, and I'm glad he agreed, since we were the ones lying on the floor trying to screw the damned thing into the base while your dad and Jack tried to hold it upright. I mean, there's a eight inch diameter on that puppy, and that wood's hard when you're trying to screw in blunt-tipped screws. Why the hell can't they put pointy screws on there? You and Jack get on that, will you? Build Bones' and Hodgins' Infinitely Better Than Those Old Crappy Stands Tree Stand. We'll make a mint. (We'd better. Do you know how much packaging we'd need just to accommodate that title?) (Punk.) (You're the one who asked me to invent something.) (Fine. Squint punk.) (I suppose that's better.)

Your father was standing with Jack, also frowning at the tree. "I don't know, Russell, Seeley, I think I'm with Jack on this one. It is off by almost six degrees."

"Max! It's six degrees! The only person who's going to notice that is Bones!"

He and Jack started conferring again when Jenkins walked back in and took in the tree. "Whoa. That's off by what, five, six degrees?"

Figures. Stupid Jenkins. "Fine. Come on, Russ. Back under the tree we go. But Jenkins, you've got to help hold the damned thing up this time. Grandpa Max and Uncle Jack can't hold it up worth a darn."

"As you command, Mister Booth."

"Can it, Jenkins. Just hold the damned tree straight."

"Yes, Sarge."

"Jenkins…"

"Okay, fine."

Everyone's a goddamned back-talking punk these days, Bones.

* * *

Angela and I had already fortified the children with the new hot chocolate recipe we'd concocted, (What's in that?) (Vanilla bean, cinnamon, light cream, and a little bit of salt.) (Salt?) (Salt. Have I ever made you anything bad?) (No. Sorry.) and were having them roll out the gingerbread people dough on the center island (It's nice to have a marble counter big enough for ten chefs to work at.) (Forget it, Bones. We'd need a new house, the floors can't take it.) when you men came back down.

"How's the tree?" Angela asked.

"Only one degree from perpendicular," Jack grumbled. "But that was as good as we could get it."

"Yeah, well, we never would have gotten it there if Jenkins hadn't come along and helped," you groused. "Jenkins? You got anything for removing pine pitch down here?" you asked, starting to rummage under the larger of the sinks.

"Let me," he said, then reached past you to pull out something. You manly men all took turns washing up and grumbling to one another about each others' imagined failures in assisting in the tree erection, but you were shooting an eye at all the raw cookie dough being rolled out on the counters.

"Whatcha got there, Bones?" you asked, coming over to nuzzle the side of my neck while I stirred orange peel and butterscotch chips into the oatmeal cookie batter Angela and I had already made.

"Temperance's Too-Terrific Butterscotch Orange Oatmeal Delights," I said with a smirk, and you snorted, spraying my neck. Thank you, Seeley, I really appreciated that. (So, don't tell jokes when I'm that close to you. You're my funny, funny Bones. Can't really help but snort.) (Fine, I forgive you, but only because you think I'm funny.) "The children have the gingerbread dough, but there are a few bowls of batter and logs of dough in the fridge that need work, too."

"Where are Amy and Angela?"

"Amy's in the bathroom, and Angela's in the pantry, making the last batch of cookie dough. It was easier for her to take the mixers in there while I supervised the children."

"What can I do?"

"You can turn the ovens on and set out cooling racks on the counter, then line those cookie sheets with parchment paper for the kids and help them put their cutouts on the sheets."

"Do I get to eat the raw leftover scraps if I do that?" you asked, shooting me the '_I am only handy around the kitchen because I am a bottomless pit of appetite_' charm smile.

"As if I could stop you."

"You could give me the '_so help me Seeley, I was going to show the kids how to consolidate the scraps and re-roll them' _EDG."

I thought about it, then gave it a try.

Just as I tried the new EDG out, Jenkins walked back in, and was reaching over Hallie's shoulder to pick a scrap of dough off the counter. He accidentally looked up, and hah, it worked. "Sorry, Temperance," he said, backing off. "Do you need help with the cooling racks?"

"Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Jenkins."

He went off to the pantry immediately, and you snorted. "Good one, Bones."

"I've never accidentally EDG'd anyone before, but it's nice to know it works under multiple circumstances."

"Bones!" Parker called at that point. "We're cutting out shapes now! What should I do first, angels or reindeer or snow people?"

Hallie looked at him and rolled her eyes. "I want angels, because that's what Mom says I am."

Emma stuck out her tongue at her sister, and Parker just rolled his eyes right back at Hallie. "If you hafta announce it, Hallie, then maybe it's not self-evident, ya know?" he replied, smiling to himself as he grabbed a reindeer cookie cutter and started pressing down on the dough.

"I don't know what that means," she said, a confused look on her face as she stared at our boy.

You would have held back that laugh if I hadn't sprayed my herbal tea all over the counter.

* * *

By late afternoon, we were done with the cookies-- you'd marshaled three kids, our little family, Max, Russ & Amy into making almost one hundred gingerbread people, three dozen sugar cookies of various shapes, two dozen of those awesome oatmeal thingies, a huge pan of lemon squares, Angela's chocolate chip cookie recipe, and some fancy shmancy cookies for grownups. What were those again? (Chocolate black pepper candied ginger crisps and earl grey tea shortbread cookies, plus a pignoli recipe from Annamaria's.)

You and Ange and Amy need to open a cookie factory. I don't know how you guys did all that work in the time we were out cutting the tree. (We didn't. Ange and I made all the dough for the gingerbread, sugar cookies and crisps last week and refrigerated them, and I made the lemon curd yesterday.) (I didn't see any cookie dough in the fridge, and believe me, I looked, because the only thing better than cookies is cookie dough.) (They were behind the cottage cheese.) (I hate cottage cheese.) (I know.)

"How much powdered sugar and food coloring did we go through?" your dad was asking, as he took in the huge bowls of powdered sugar icing and paintbrushes you and Ange put out for the kids to use in decorating the cookies.

"Two pounds of powdered sugar," you said, regarding the carnage on the counter and in the sinks, as well as the gobs of red and blue and green icing sticking to nearly every visible inch of the kids' skin. Fortunately, the kids also all thought that loading the industrial dishwasher is a treat, so it was just a matter of getting them some footstools so they could assembly line all those bowls and other implements of cookie construction into the washer.

"Bones, how you doing?" I asked—you were looking a little droopy. You'd been going most of the day, and stayed up kind of late after chemo yesterday once we'd picked up Parker.

"Okay," you said. "I could stand a bit of a nap before your parents and brother get here, if the plan is to all have dinner together."

"That was the idea. Let me give them a call and see how they're doing on time," I offered, and you nodded, sipping some more tea as your Dad wiped down the counters. Those _are_ big counters. You were watching the kids with a bemused smile on your face and your Dad was watching you with a bemused smile on his while Russ and Amy fished stuff out of the garbage disposal and Ange herded the cats that are three children with a huge smile on her face. Leave it to Ange to make loading the dishwasher into a game and make up a song to go with it. She should work for Disney—she's like Mary Poppins except with attitude and a paintbrush. When I finished my call you were telling Parker why it would take an hour or more before the frosting was dry, and explaining the chemistry behind Angela's chocolate chip cookie recipe.

"See, Parker, when you melt the butter and mix it with the ingredients, the fat structure is different and affects the texture of the cookie, making a less cakey cookie than in the traditional recipe. Since Angela also refrigerates the dough overnight and then spoons it while cold onto the baking sheets, it also spreads more under the heat, so that the final product is a lacy, crispy cookie."

Your Dad jumped in with more explanation about fat and flour and molecules, and the three kids were soon clustered around him as he broke apart cookies to demonstrate.

"Bones," I said, coming to stand behind you and give you a boost off your stool. "They'll be here by 7 or so—you want to eat something now and just crash, or take a nap and get up in a few hours?"

"The latter," you said, taking my arm. "Your mother and I need to plan tomorrow's grocery shopping with Jenkins, we've only got the menu half-settled, and I wouldn't mind watching the children get started on decorating the tree after dinner."

"What have you guys decided to make?" I asked, wondering. I mean, fourteen people is a lot to cook for, even if Jack's probably got a dining room table to sit twenty. (Yes, that's the small one in the small formal dining room.)

"You'll see," you said, smiling mysteriously. "Like I said, it's only half settled."

"Where are you guys going?" called Parker, just as we hit the doorway.

"Just to take a bit of a nap, Parker," you answered. "I'll be back down in a bit."

"Can I go with you?" he asked, drying his hands on his shirt and trotting over.

"Naps are for babies," intoned Hallie.

Parker just gave her a look again—kind of a '_boy what do you know_' EDG. She actually paused for a moment. That's my boy, EDG'ing the bossy eight year old. "Dr. Bones isn't a baby, and she takes naps. They're replenishing, and bolster the immune system's resiliency." he said, with that snotty tone you take when you're one-upping someone.

"I don't know what that means," she said again.

"That's my sesquipedalian boy, Parker," you murmured approvingly. "Come on, pal, let's go take a nap."

"Bones, what's sesquipe-what did you call it mean?" he asked, when we hit the foot of the stairs.

"Sesquipedalian," you said, as I scooped you up and we all headed upstairs, "means someone who knows and uses big words. Like self-evident, and replenishing, and ungulate."

"So I'm a sesquipedalian too?" he asked, getting it right the second time he tried it. "I love big words. It makes the girls all confused and then they want to spend more time with me because they can't figure out if I'm smart or funny or both. And I like spending time with girls. Plus, Hallie is bossy, Bones. Big words confuse her and she stops bossing me around so much while she tries to figure out if I've said something bad."

Yep, he's a Booth. Even if he's applying Brennan wiles to achieve the Booth end, confusing and therefore charming girls. (I thought the end-all, be-all of a Booth's existence was food.) (Food _and_ girls, Bones.) (Or girls to cook you food?) (Well, ideally, yeah.)

"Dr. Bones? What are you making for Christmas dinner? Are you gonna make Mac and Cheese? And do I get to sit next to you?"

He's a Booth, alright.

* * *

You sacked out right away and Parks snuggled into you, so I headed back down to see what other child wrangling needed doing. We'd all decided that Russ and Amy and your Dad should have the presents sent to the house ahead of time so we could hide them and get them all wrapped after they went to bed in order to keep the Santa thing going, so I checked with Jenkins to see where they were all squirreled away, then helped Russ and Max with the lights while Jack, Ange, and Jenkins started hauling down and opening box after box of ornaments and setting them out for the kids to grab after supper.

"Tempe doesn't look good," your brother said, _sotto voce_, as I handed him the next rope of lights for him to wrap on the tree from where he was standing on the shorter of the two stepladders, until he could pass the rest to your Dad down below.

"No." I responded.

He shook his head. "I never thought when I took up with Amy and her girls what it would mean to deal with someone who was sick all the time, and I certainly never thought Tempe would ever be really sick—hell, she hardly ever got sick when we were kids."

"Well, life has a way of throwing the unexpected at you," I responded.

"No kidding," he said, shaking his head and taking in the parlor where we'd put up the tree. It wasn't as comfy as the sunroom, but it did open up onto the patio and gardens, had enough seats and couches (Settees? They're pretty fancy for couches.)(Yes, settees, I agree, Seeley.) for everyone, and even had a fireplace to keep the room warm, unlike half the drafty rooms on the ground floor.

He mulled something over some more as we worked, then looked at me. "Booth, I'm sorry if I haven't been there as much for Tempe as I should…" he began.

"Russ. You did the same thing Bones did. You started your own family. She gets that, and she's happy for you. Neither one of you ever planned on finding your parents, and you did what you could to make lives for yourselves in the meantime. She's just happy you've found people who care for you and who you can take care of."

"Yeah, but watching out for Tempe was kind of the thing that kept me from being a complete punk all through high school, you know, I was never a brainiac like she was, though I'm good at my job. When she shut down on me…" He shook his head again in rueful memory, then made a bitter moue. "Well, life has a way of throwing the unexpected at you, like you said."

"Well, you've got Amy and the girls to look out for, and they're doing better for your being around," I replied. I meant it. Those girls really look to him as a dad, and he's firm with them when Amy tends to be a little indulgent. Understandable, I know, being a single parent's hard enough without your kids thinking you're a hardass, but since Russ is in it for the long haul, the girls seem to both be a little less anxious than they were when I first met them, at least.

He shot me an unreadable look, but only said "Thanks."

He was quiet some more until Max handed up the nine millionth strand of lights, then groaned. "Dad, how many more strands of lights are there?"

"Only three, Russell," he said, eyes twinkling. "Quit your complaining, Booth there's been all stoic and gracious."

"That's just because I'm cursing you silently, Max. Bones has ears in the back of her head. Four floors up and a half mile away, she hears me cussing you out and she'll kick my ass after making me go to her so she can do it." Russ barked out a laugh, and your Dad tried to give me a dirty look, then just snorted.

"Just like Mom," Russ muttered. "Dad was so totally whipped." Then he looked at me, a little alarmed by the slip, and added "In a good way, of course."

"Uh-hunh."

"Sorry."

"Un-hunh." I don't really care, I mean, it's true, but I've got an alpha-male rep to try to maintain at least as to the other guys around here. (Yes, husband.) (Heh.)

* * *

"Hey, Bones?"

"Mmmph, Parks, whatsit?"

"Your phone's buzzing, is that the alarm?"

"Hand it to me, will you please?"

He rolled over and got me the phone, and it was the alarm to get up. "Thanks, Parker. Could you do me a favor and turn on the light, please?"

He obliged and I thanked him, then sat down cross-legged to watch me as I shut off the alarm and stared up at the ceiling, trying to get my bearings.

I sent you a text, then managed to roll to my side and sit up against the headboard without getting too dizzy. Parker looked serious, and I wondered what he was going to ask.

"You've got your philosophical look, Parks," I said.

"How come Mama sniffles or starts crying every time I talk about you?" he asked. Oof. Right for the jugular.

"She was worried about you and the bad men, I think, and it probably still scares her to think about it. Since I was there to help you, it probably makes her remember it more when you bring up my name. She loves you very much and doesn't like to think about your ever getting hurt."

"So I shouldn't talk about you because it makes Mama sad?"

I sighed. I had a feeling it was more along the lines of a melodramatic "_Saint Temperance saved my son from certain annihilation even though she's dying_" type of reaction, but I certainly wasn't going to tell him that.

"I'm not saying that Parker, but that's my best guess about why she feels sad. Your Dad knows your mom better than I do, he might be able to help you figure out how to handle it."

"Do you think she's jealous?" he asked, a perspicacious look on his face.

"I don't know, but I don't think so, Parker. Your mom's always been nice to me since your Dad and I got together, and Brent, too. If she had a problem with me, she'd probably say something to Booth, she's not someone who refrains from sharing her opinion."

"One of the kids in my class said stepmothers are all mean when I told him I had one," he said, then came over and sat next to me, pulling my arm over his shoulders. I obliged, pulling him onto my lap, and he immediately started playing with my hair. You Booth boys and your near-obsessive Bones snuggling. There's got to be a gene in there someplace compelling you both to invade my personal space and pet me like a cat. (Probably. Though my Dad and Jared manage to keep their hands off you.)

"So, what did you say?"

"I told him he was dumb, because you're cool and teach me stuff Mom and Brent and Dad don't know, and make the best pudding in the universe. Will you teach me how to make pudding, Bones? 'Cuz when I'm old and go to college and stuff, I need to know how to make it for myself. Plus, Emma really likes it, and if girls like it, then it's got to be good."

He's a Booth, alright, Seeley.

* * *

We made it downstairs and you got me settled into one of the settees nearer the tree, a box of ornaments next to me that needed unpacking. Jenkins came in with some more packages of tinsel and other arboreal accompaniments, as you grumbled that "it's going to look like a Nutcracker tree by the time that we're done."

Jenkins just nodded as he watched Jack and Angela boost the kids up to help add more ornaments. "Well, yes. I used to assist with the set designs for the National Ballet when Master Jack here was younger, and he was so enamored of the tree in that production that his parents and I determined that there should be a replica chez Hodgins." You just rolled your eyes, and went over to 'supervise.'

"Airborne veteran, Peace Corps volunteer, GAO accountant, CFO of the Cantilever Group, Motown and rock band road manager, butler extraordinaire, scratch cook for French heads of state, escort to Jackie Onassis, man about town, and ballet set designer," I said, filing away the slip that he'd known Jack since he was small, and that he'd known Jack's parents. "What don't you do, Jenkins?" I asked.

"Windows," he said with a straight face. "I don't do windows. Oven-cleaning, either. Or screenwriting. Though I am working on a memoir," he added, with a wistful look in my direction.

"Oh, Jenkins. I would love to pass it on to my publisher. But I would need to skim a chapter or two, first."

"Of course. Though I'll have to ask you to keep it under wraps until they decide one way or the other. Jack's the only other person who knows."

"Well, I'm sure it will be fascinating."

He smiled wickedly. "Salacious, too."

I laughed. "Well, that's the best kind of memoir. Nothing moves books like a fair bit of gossip or smut."

He laughed in response. "Well, perhaps I will let you edit the smut parts. You've a fair hand at them in your books."

"I would be honored," I said with a wink. And really, I would. Booth, can you imagine who Jenkins has probably dated over the course of his lifetime? It's sure to be fascinating. (You're going to let me peek, right, Bones?) (No. Not unless he says it's okay.) (Bones.) (Honestly, Booth, I don't know how you manage to convey that whiny tone even in a digital diary.) (It's a talent. Please, Bones?) (No. You'll have to ask him yourself.) (Come on, Bones, please?) (No. Now quit nagging me, husband.) (Husband, heh.)

* * *

You were ensconced in the couch with Mom, fighting over the last bits of Mee Krob as Jared and our Dads kept lifting the kids up to put things on the higher boughs of the tree. Ange and I were watching as Jack answered the questions about the ornaments and house that the kids threw at him. I didn't know there was a bowling alley in the basement.

"I think I've learned more about Jack in the last week than I have in the whole four years I've known him," I said.

She nodded absently. "He's like Bren that way. He doesn't like to talk too much about growing up, his parents' dying really overshadowed things for him for a while."

"How old was he?" I asked, wondering if she'd answer.

"Fifteen. Same as Bren." She thought for a moment, then pursed her lips. "He'd probably give you the outline if you asked him, but it's his story to tell."

"Oh, I know," I replied quickly. I didn't want her to think I was trying to be nosy. She patted my knee, then looked over and huffed at something Jared was doing. She jumped up and hustled over, calling "Tinsel needs to be put on one strand at a time! Not just tossed at the tree in globs like that!" Jared just tossed more at the tree in retaliation, and Ange practically wrestled the box away from him. She's tough, Ange is, when she's annoyed. Though I do enjoy seeing Jared get slapped upside the head like that.

Bones, I think we've just found Angela's flaw. She's a tinsel obsessive.


	72. Chapter 72

72.

I woke to find myself gathered against your side, for once (these days at least) actually waking before you. I could see by the light that it was still snowing, so with as little jostling as I could manage, I slid over to the side of the bed and managed to get myself up without too much dizziness. I grabbed a robe and sat down on the chaise in front of the windows, pulling a blanket over me as I watched the snow. It was early, still, only seven, and I was glad—I've been sleeping so much that sometimes half the morning's gone before I wake up, and I always did like mornings for working, or reading, or just being alone. It's quiet, nobody else is up to call or interrupt you, and you can think—or not, and just look out the window.

I sat back and watched it snow, the fat flakes still falling steadily since yesterday—there must be six inches or so, maybe more out there. We hardly ever get so much snow here—it's the one thing I miss about Chicago. I don't miss how long winter lasted, but it was nice to get more than a dusting that turns into slush, like it does here. It looks like we will have a chance to build the snowman Parker said he wanted to build at the wedding. I'm glad—I like keeping my promises.

* * *

"Hey, sleepy, scoot over," I said, giving you a bit of a nudge from where you'd fallen asleep on the chaise. You blinked and smiled, then lifted up the blanket you'd pulled over yourself as you shifted to make room for me. I hitched you up to nestle atop me, then hauled the blanket back over both of us and wrapped my arms around your waist. You shifted a little, rested your head on my shoulder, and looked back out the window.

"What time is it?"

"Eight thirty."

"Must've fallen asleep again," you murmured.

"Well, we don't have to go anywhere until this afternoon, and I finished wrapping Parker's presents last night, so snooze away, Bones."

"I was just watching the snow," you said. "We don't get snow like this too often."

"Nope, the kids are sure to be out there all day," I replied. "My Dad and our brothers were conferring with Jenkins about whether there were sleds and anyplace for sledding, so I say we let them take them out and blow off some steam."

You snorted a soft breath against my neck. "Jenkins probably said he invented sledding, and that Hodgins Manor has the preeminent sledding slopes north of the Mason Dixon line."

"Something like that. Actually, I think he mentioned the Iditarod."

You laughed aloud. "Of course. I forgot about the Alyeska pipeline income revamp story."

"It's nice, huh, Bones?" I was running my hands over your back, and watching the flakes spinning down.

"Mmm. We used to have snow like this all the time in Chicago, which was nice the first three times each winter. The next eight or so, however? You ran out of places to put the snow. And even when we were little, there were only so many snowmen and snow angels we could make."

"Us too, although I guess Chicago gets more snow than Philly."

"Chicago gets more snow than the North Pole," you said, sitting up a bit to look at me with a sarcastic grin. "I used to have to shovel the walk at the cooperative house I lived in during graduate school. Hence, the habit of going to godforsaken yet snowless climes during the winter break."

"Ah. Now I understand. See, Bones, here I thought you were just this great humanitarian with personal familial baggage to escape at the holidays, and now you tell me you're just too damned lazy to shovel. If I'd known that before we got married, Bones, well, I just don't know…"

"Well, you're stuck with me now," you said, sticking out your tongue and crossing your eyes. "Some investigator you are."

"I don't know," I said, pulling the belt on your robe open. "I'm pretty sure that falls into defect of intent, Bones," I added, then brushed my hands up your stomach and breasts as you leant forward to nibble your way up my neck.

"I hardly think nondisclosure of my unwillingness to shovel the sidewalk constitutes grounds for annulment, Seeley," you breathed in my ear, sliding one hand behind my neck, your chest resting atop mine as you continued to suck and nip your way along my jawline. "I also think there has been far too much consummation for you to credibly argue to your priest that having to shovel snow is a cardinal deception."

I slid my hands along the outside of your legs, then up the front, teasing as I answered. "Bones, you're kind of creeping me out with your grasp of Catholic dogma, but since you brought it up, the idea of consummation is far more interesting to me right now than confession," I said, then brushed my fingers over your damp folds as you shifted upward allow me further access.

You didn't answer me verbally, just set those nimble hands of yours to work teasing me as I entered your slick heat with my fingers. You were stroking my shaft and kneading me from below when one particular twist of my fingers in you made you gasp and buck a little as your hands flexed, giving me an opening to pull you up and forward so I could be inside you.

"Seeley," you hissed, my own groaned "Bones" as you took me all the way in following your exclamation. You shifted to brace your hands behind me, groaning as you sank down onto me again, your hot walls tight and so home all around me.

I clasped your waist in my hands, steadying you as you slowly raised and lowered yourself again, the warm azure wool of your robe framing your skin as you moved with me, your hands pushing down on my shoulders as we started a rhythm together. Still too pale, still too thin, still too blue-veined, but still my beautiful Bones.

"So good," you murmured, as I pulled you a little more firmly onto me, a little smile on your face as we picked up the pace. Your soft full breasts demanded attention, so I shifted to pull you forward and hitch my knees up behind you so I could taste the smooth skin under my mouth, the warm yielding flesh under the press of my tongue. You inhaled sharply as I started to suck at your nipples, then inhaled again when I pushed myself yet again deeper inside you. Your eyes were closed, head falling forward as I tasted you, your hands gripping me as you concentrated on maintaining the pace. Our breathing became increasingly uneven, and I could feel myself drawing tight at the sight of you losing yourself to sensation as your legs started to quiver from straddling me.

"Come here, baby," I said, pulling you all the way forward so your chest sealed to mine, and I could hold you tight so I could shift to fill you while you just let me hold you, your legs hitched forward so I could cradle you.

Your hands around my back were echoing the small soft kisses and brushes of your mouth over my shoulder and neck as I sped the pace again, your hips rocking against mine as we started moving together again, your mouth finding mine as we kissed. It was so quiet except for the sound of our breathing, the way that everything always gets hushed when it's snowing out, so that the snow coming down outside makes the room you're in seem like its own little cocoon.

Your eyes were closing in pleasure as I continued to push up into you, your hands splaying on me as you arched down to meet me. "Love you so much, my sweetheart," I murmured, pushing upwards again as I sought and found a new pace that made you whimper with increasing tension.

"Oh, Seeley," you breathed, then whimpered again, your eyes closed, as I changed the angle to move more deeply within you. You were starting to tremble with tension as I continued, losing the rhythm I'd set, so I took hold of your waist to maintain it as you held on, gasping or making small whimpers at the end of each stroke. You were so close, I could feel the way your walls were reflexively starting to flutter, so I slid one hand between us to coax your release from you with my fingers over your slick, throbbing clitoris. You clenched, calling out with a long "Oh!" as your walls tightened further and I was surrounded by your flooding warmth, the waves of your orgasm the best thing ever to swim through. Your body shuddered against mine as I clasped your head to my shoulder and continued to fill you, the sight of you still lost to your pleasure drawing my own climax from me with a long shudder as my arms convulsively tightened around you.

You let out a long sigh, your breath hot on my neck as your body relaxed into mine, the last of the aftershocks quivering through you now passed. You shifted slightly, bringing one arm up to loop around the back of my neck.

"Mmmm," you purred, your eyes still closed as you pulled me down for a kiss. "Love you, Booth," you mumbled, then settled your head back on my shoulder, a sweet little smile on your face.

"Love you too, Bones," I replied, not resisting the urge to place another kiss on your forehead, then shifted so I could hold you and look at you better after I pulled up the blanket some more.

I love watching you when we make love—I love the passage of expressions on your face, the looks of concentration, expectation, tension, pleasure and complete abandon washing over you as we make our way through the dance. I love the way your arms and hands flex and grip, the way your fingers dig into my arms or twist the sheets when I'm teasing you so much you can't speak. I love how your back arches, your gorgeous breasts swaying and your pink-flushed chest jutting upward, when I fill you all the way while you're straddling me. I love hearing that soft grunt you make when you grind yourself onto me-- always accompanied by this look on your face that says "more." I love the way you toss your hair, your back flexing as you push back to meet me when I take you from behind, and the way your head falls back when you're ready to come—it's always the sexiest, most beautiful thing ever. The sight of your belly and thighs flexing as you ride me or cradle me, all that incredible milky skin of yours—it's all perfect.

But of it all, I love the look on your face when it's over, and we're both sweating and panting and coming back to ourselves, and when you're falling asleep—because you just look happy. I love that most of all.

* * *

"Why are they sleeping on the couch in the window?"

"I don't know. Maybe they were watching the snow."

"Why's Aunt Tempe asleep on top of your Dad?"

"Shh. Don't wake Bones up, Emma. Be quiet, I just need to find my other mittens."

"Why doesn't your Dad have any shirt on?"

"Emma, shh. Grownups never sleep with clothes on when they love each other."

I cracked an eye as Parks and your niece failed almost completely at their six-year-old attempt to be quiet and subtle.

"Parks—your winter stuff's in the blue bag," I whispered, since you were still sacked out on top of me. I did, however, pull the blanket up again, since Russ and Amy might not appreciate my giving Emma a show. At least you still had your robe on.

His eyes went wide and he tiptoed even more loudly into the closet to drag out the bag I'd stuffed all his extra mittens and scarves and things in.

"Are you guys going sledding?" I asked, and the two of them nodded, Emma looking completely horrified that she'd woken us up.

"Who's taking you?"

"Grandpa Max and Uncle Jared," Parks whispered.

"Did you eat breakfast?"

Emma just rolled her eyes, then stage whispered with a disgusted tone in her voice. "He had two pancakes, three whole pieces of bacon, two pieces of sausage, and two fried eggs. With ketchup. Eew. Plus two cookies and a milkshake. It was so gross."

Parker just grinned. That's my boy.

* * *

"Good morning, lovies," Angela trilled, once we made our way down to the larger sunroom where we'd all eaten brunch after the wedding. Richard and Russ and Amy were already there along with Jack and Ange, working away on mimosas and greyhounds, a litter of plates displaying the carnage already inflicted by your father and brother, not to mention my own family members.

"Am I going to have to do all the driving today?" you asked Ange and Jack, as you surveyed the one already emptied-champagne bottle standing by the beverage tray.

"Yep," grinned Angela. "We're halfway to being tanked and it's not even eleven. Caroline has been pumping me for naughty stories about Bren, and I've been telling them every time the boys get up to go get us more coffee." Then she grinned again, patted the seat between she and your mother, and said "Bren, come sit here. Boys, go get us more coffee. Booth, you rustle up something for you and Bren to eat."

Amy, sitting in the chair across from the sofa where your mother was sitting, snorted. "I need to learn Angela's cavalier way of ordering people around so everyone stumbles over themselves to do as she says," she continued, observing the way the other guys had actually all gotten up to gather plates and things and head back downstairs.

After you got me settled on the sofa, your dropped a kiss on your Mom's cheek, winked at Ange and said "lushes," and started to shoo the rest of the boys out of the sunroom and off to the kitchen. "Come on, men," you joked as you walked off. "We must hunt and gather bagels and lox, coffee, sugar, and champagne for the women."

"Is that what we're doing?" I heard Jack ask. "I thought we were being ordered around."

"Nah. We're just fulfilling our biological imperative to provide for our women, so they're all too fat and happy to complain when we want to get it on again."

"Ah," said Jack.

"Very, very wise, Booth" chimed in Russ.

"That's my boy," your father said proudly.

The four of us just looked at each other and burst into laughter. Your mother, of course, got the last word.

"The hunting and gathering is nice, and we all enjoy the getting it on part, but if they ever knew we really mostly just keep them around for opening jars and getting down things from places too inconvenient to use a step ladder to get to, they'd be crushed."

* * *

We were headed back upstairs with more food for everyone—Russ and Jack had already started back up with the coffee and booze and some herbal tea stuff for you while my Dad and I piled some more food on some trays and I whipped up some scrambled eggs to have with my bagels and lox—when I noticed my Dad sending me what he thought were unobtrusive looks.

"Out with it, Dad," I said, as I slowed up a bit so he could ask what he wanted. I didn't really get a chance to talk to them last night when they showed up, tree decorating was in full swing and the Thai delivery guy showed up right after they did, so we basically dumped their stuff inside the door and humped the food down to help with the tree. Between helping your Dad with the kids and going with Jack and Jar down to the kitchen for more beer and Riesling for you ladies, we probably exchanged three private words all night.

"What are you going to do, Seeley, if…"

I looked at him. There were a lot of if's in that question. And a lot of possible answers, none of which either of us had settled upon. So I gave him the only answer I could give him.

"When you go through a twelve-step program, Dad, there are a lot of different catch phrases and ideas that are pretty short and easy to get your mind around. Like mantras or the rosary—something you can hold onto and don't have to think too much about, but can just keep repeating to yourself until it calms you down or sinks in. Some of them are more useful than others, some of them mean more to some people or during certain times of their lives—but whatever works, you know?"

He nodded. I never really talked to him about the GA stuff, not that I really went to meetings much anymore, once you really get over your own stuff it can be sad, not affirming, to go to meetings, but we've already talked about that.

"So… there's two of those that anyone can take to heart, no matter where they're at. I know you know the Serenity Prayer from the men's group, right?"

He nodded. "Serenity to accept the things we cannot change…"

"Right." I juggled the tray a bit. "Well, the other one is simple—one day at a time. It can be crushing to have to think about all the things that could happen tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that. There are too many what if's if you keep thinking like that. You don't get anything done, because you're too busy worrying about what might happen next to concentrate on just doing the things you have to do and want to do right then. So you just get… paralyzed, and do whatever it is you do to try to distract yourself from thinking about all the stuff about tomorrow that scares you. Gamble, or drink, or whatever else helps. But if you just focus on getting through the end of the day—well, that's manageable, and you can keep going."

We were almost back to the sunroom so I wrapped it up. "Bones has the serenity part covered for everything she's not done being courageous about. I'm just concentrating on the one day at a time thing. Today, we're going to eat brunch, go out for a visit this afternoon for a bit, hang out with our families and have supper, and maybe go to Mass if Bones is up to it or if she has someone to stay with her while we go. You just get through the day, Dad, sometimes it's all you can do. We'll worry about tomorrow when it's tomorrow."

* * *

"Double-B, you called, right? It's okay that we're all coming together?"

"Yes, Jack. You checked when you were there last week, too. It's fine. Everything's been arranged."

Angela just fussed with the bags of things we'd packed as you concentrated on the road, rearranging the bags she'd already arranged three times. The snow had tapered off some, but not all the plows had caught up with the snowfall, so we'd taken your truck since you had four-wheel drive, and somehow, Jack with his stable of vehicles didn't have anything with all road capabilities that seated more than two. We'd seen the children back in, red cheeked and soaked to the bone before we left the house, your mother and Amy seeing to lunch as your father and Russ took their turns getting them changed into dry clothes and setting their coats and boots out to dry before they went out again. I'd forgotten how impervious children can be to temperature and wetness when they are concentrated on out-doing one another.

However-- Hallie is quite bossy, isn't she? I shall have to have a word with her. Just because she suffers from an illness doesn't mean she gets to get away with not saying please, and I don't care for the way she behaves when she doesn't get what she wants. We can't all have what we want—and if being unwell was a sure fix, well, no one would be unwell, would they?

* * *

"Zach-o, quit hogging the Mac and Cheese, and slide the tray over here, will you?"

"Hodgins, Dr. Brennan made this tray of Macaroni and Cheese to share with me and Angela and herself-- there is a separate tray just for you and Booth. It's not my problem if you can't eat fast enough to keep up with Booth's entirely rational and enviable capacity to quickly appreciate Dr. Brennan's excellent recipe."

Zach was lecturing Jack as if he were serious, and Jack's face actually fell at the thought that he'd only get the one scoop of Mac and Cheese he took before he started yakking away with Zach about some new materials analysis thing you two were working on. Zach waited a beat before holding his hand out for Jack's plate, and you and Ange laughed at the look on Jack's face that he wouldn't have to stick with chocolate chip cookies and Mountain Dew for the rest of his meal.

The litter of gift bags and tissue paper surrounded the table—you'd arranged for us to have the sunroom with Zach for two hours instead of the more usual one, and we'd brought Zach a mini-Christmas Eve dinner, since his family wasn't getting in until after supper and he wouldn't see them until tomorrow. Zach had already opened each gift, pre-approved by the care team, with such concentrated attention that I almost felt like the gifts were going to unwrap themselves, and now was engrossed in the food that we'd brought him, all his favorites.

They were all simple things, since they had rules about what people were allowed to own and keep in their rooms, but he gave that slow smile he always got when he was really digging something as he opened each one of the four things we'd brought him—a handmade wooden logic puzzle I'd found when I was looking online for things for Parker, the last season of Battlestar Galactica on DVD from Jack, a collection of lab notebooks and mechanical pencils from Angela, and your present—a copy of the published paper you'd been co-writing with him right before everything went to hell, with the authors listed as "Drs. T. Booth-Brennan and Z.U. Addy."

You'd submitted it to every journal going, and they all wanted to publish it since you two did some serious new research, but gossip makes its way even up into ivory towers, and they all wanted you to either leave Zach out altogether or just acknowledge him in a footnote. Every time one of them asked you, you'd just say "I'm sorry, I can't do that, Dr. Addy was an equal contributor to the research and much of the writing. It would be intellectually dishonest to do otherwise." The guys at the _Journal of Forensic Science_ finally caved after calling you a second time to try to bargain to have him listed as a contributor and you said no. I'm sure it's not for the reason you offered with a rueful smile after you got off the phone—"They're more afraid of not publishing my last article ever than of publishing something that also has Zach's name appended to it." It's a good paper, Bones, and you're a good woman for seeing it through. The best.

When it was finally time to go Jack and Angela re-packed the bags, said their goodbyes, and gathered the trash to give to the guards while you and Zach said goodbye. I went out in the hall once I heard him sniff when you repeated what you'd said back in the hospital—that you'd always be proud of him. Maybe so—he might even get better enough to go home someday, but the fact that you'd put your academic reputation out there on the line to prove it to him? That takes more heart than most people will ever have in their whole lifetimes.

* * *

When we got back from the hospital, the children had finished a mid-afternoon snack and were heading through the vestibule to camp for a bit. Hallie and Emma just waved as they tromped through, Amy and map in tow, but there was a solid stomping of two little Booth feet trailing not far behind. (Booths don't stomp, Bones. We stride purposefully.) (Manly, too.) (That's right, baby.) ( ) (Don't roll your eyes like that, woman.) ( ). (Knock it off, punk.)

"Bones!" Parker called, as he came around the corner. "You guys are back! Are you going to make snow people with us?"

"Of course," I said, smiling. "Your Dad and I are going to go upstairs and change into weather-appropriate clothing and then we'll come get you when we're ready to go outside again. Are your coat and boots somewhere down here?"

He nodded. "Jenkins said he was putting all our stuff in the dryer again but that we were pushing our luck if we asked him to do it again after making snow people."

I laughed. "Well, I'll help with the dryers if you all want to go out again after we're done making snow people. You guys go play for a bit and we'll be down soon, okay?"

"Snow people, Double B?" Jack asked. "Do I dare ask what that may entail?"

I smiled mysteriously. "Just some costumes for the snow sculptures to sport when they're done that can be used as part of a small cultural anthropology lesson. Jenkins said he'd see what he could find."

Angela laughed, and you rolled your eyes. "Bones, it's Christmas Eve. Anthropology on Christmas Eve?"

Jack just punched you in the shoulder. "Something new every day, G-Man. The day's wasted, otherwise."

"Come on, Silver," I ordered, poking you in the shoulder, since you'd failed to set me down after the long walk up the driveway. "Heigh ho away upstairs so we can get changed. I have knowledge to impart to our three squintlings."

"Squintlings, eh, Bones? That a new word?"

Angela snickered. "I like it. I think that will be the middle name of our first child."

Jack guffawed. "Yeah, if it's a boy, Sid Squintling Montenegro-Hodgins, and if it's a girl, Anamaria Squintling Montenegro-Hodgins. Gotta have priorities. Restaurant reservations first, vocation next."

Jenkins entered the vestibule just as the end of this little speech, affecting disappointment and anger. "Gerard Stanley Hodgins. I thought you were going to name your firstborn after me."

You snorted, murmuring "Gerard Stanley?" under your breath.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Not as a first name, man, maybe not even as a middle. I'm not doing that to my kid, and there's no female cognate."

I rolled my eyes sympathetically. "I must agree, Jenkins. It is a rather outlandish name, and one that most children today would find it difficult to bear."

You looked puzzled. "I don't get it. Jenkins isn't a bad name for a boy. I mean, I can see not saddling a girl with that name, but there are lots of kids with first names that are last names these days. Parks has a Doyle and a Turner in his class, and they don't get picked on."

Jenkins just gave you a smile. "Seeley. Jenkins isn't really my name, it's just the name the Hodgins butlers always go by. It's more of a hereditary title than anything else."

"So what's your real name?"

He just shook his head and I chuckled, so you transferred your glare to me, which was rather amusing, since you were still holding me and became rather cross-eyed as you tried to do it. "And how come Bones knows it and I don't?"

I just gave you the '_you_ _claim I know everything and I work hard to keep up that expectation_' look, then gave you a mollifying six steamboats kiss.

"Fine," you grumbled. "But don't think I'm not going to start digging, Jenkins," you shot over your shoulder as we headed upstairs.

"You figure it out, Seeley, and I shall impart to you the location of Jimmy Hoffa as well as the location of the lost city of Atlantis."

I just gave you another mollifying kiss as you grumbled "Everyone's a goddamned punk, Bones. You, too. I can't believe you won't tell me what Jenkins' real name is. And he probably does know where goddamned Atlantis is."

"I hope so. It would be fascinating to excavate. Jimmy Hoffa, too."

"Like I said, Bones. Punk."

"I was serious." What? I was. Can you imagine the trauma patterns that might be present on Mr. Hoffa's skeleton?

* * *

"Seel… what are they doing now?" Jared asked, as he came over with a new thermos full of hot toddies. My dad and Jar and I were watching you direct your Dad, Jack, Angela and the kids in the final stages of completing the snow people. The kids were doing the final patting and smoothing of each snow person's facial and body parts, and adding the eyes and noses and other body features along with Ange, who was wielding pots of paint and squirt bottles of food coloring for all she was worth.

"They're costuming the snow people."

Jar shook his head. "I've never seen snowmen like _that," _he said, waving his hand at the assembly of short and tall, thin and fat snow people of male and female genders arrayed on the patio, many of the female snow people bare-breasted. Good thing Amy went up to take a nap, she'd be horrified. Jenkins looked thrilled to have had the chance to empty more of the attic's contents, and was handing the kids different parts of each snow person's costume for them to put on at your direction.

"It's like a National Geographic convention, except in snow. Where the hell did they get a grass skirt?" Jar asked, as Parker leaned the veritable item around an exceedingly fat snowman from Samoa with tatoos Angela'd drawn on with blue food coloring.

"The same place Jenkins came up with neck rings from Myanmar," I suggested, pointing as you knelt in the snow and showed Hallie how to stack the rings on the elongated neck of the ethnic Kayan snow woman you'd helped her construct.

Jar gulped the rest of his drink, shook his head and went over to Jenkins. "Okay, Jenkins, squint me. What's next?"

"This is a traditional war club," he said, handing Jar a big long wooden paddle. "It belongs to the broad shouldered Maori snowman over there with the swirling facial tattoos."

Parks trotted back then, accepted an authentic digeridoo from Jenkins' bag of tricks, and hustled over to the short but well-muscled snowman clad in a loin cloth.

"What's that one?" Dad asked.

"Aborigine."

"And that one?" He asked, pointing to a bare-breasted snowwoman with what looked like bamboo facial piercings.

"Not so sure. Hold on a sec. Bones!" I called, and you looked up from where you were now helping Emma place Dutch wooden shoes at the feet of a plump snowwoman with a blonde wig and pigtails that Ange came up with. I don't think I want to know why she has a duffel bag full of wigs, or why Hodgins was leering when she pulled out the red-haired one when she was looking for the one that went on the little Dutch girl.

"Yes, Seeley?" you asked.

"Snowwoman, bamboo-ish facial piercings?"

Hallie rolled her eyes. "Yanomamo female, Uncle Seeley. They're an Amazon tribe."

You just smiled, looking proud as you knelt up and dusted the snow off your bemittened hands. I wasn't keen on the fact that you'd been out here in the cold so long, but you seemed to be warm enough and were certainly being imperious enough about ordering us males to hoist you up and get you over to the next set of Snow Peoples of the World. I hope Ange's getting pictures of all this.

"Yanomamo. Of course." murmured my dad.

"What? At least I knew what an Arborigine was."

"True, too true."

"Come on, Dad. Time to learn something." I said, putting down my glass and heading over to Jenkins.

"Like Jar said, there, Jenkins. Squint me."

He laughed, then rustled through the bag. "Here," he said, handing me a musty old parka and a barbed spear. "Short stocky snowman next to the geisha."

I looked at it for a moment, then said, "Inuit? Seal hunting attire?"

My Dad just looked at me like I had two heads when Jenkins snorted and said "Right you are." Dad'll learn, Bones. Next thing you know, Hodgins'll have him able to identify three kinds of slime mold.

--

I was coming downstairs to start loading up trays of food for dinner up in the larger sunroom we'd been using for brunch when I beheld the bounteous spread of amazing food you and Mom and Jenkins came up with for Christmas Eve dinner. I couldn't help it, I had to stop in wondrous awe at the beautiful sight.

"Bones! You made like, five gallons of Mac and Cheese for dinner!"

"Yes, Booth, I did. Actually, there's a sixth casserole pan in the freezer just for you."

"Mom! You made your special glazed ham! And green bean casserole!"

"Yes, Seeley, sweetheart, I did."

"Jenkins! Is that Caroline's spoonbread?!"

"Yes, Seeley, it is."

"And, Bones! Oh my God! Is that Sid's pumpkin pie and your chocolate pudding and more Christmas cookies and… what is that?" I asked, taking in something I'd never seen before sitting next to the bowl of your incredible chocolate pudding.

"It's a new pudding recipe I thought we'd all try tonight."

I couldn't help it, I closed in for the kill, finger extended toward the glistening soft sheen of the molded pudding sitting on a plate in the fridge.

"Ow!" Jeez, Bones, you didn't have to swat me so hard.

"Here, I made you a ramekin for your taste testing approval."

Eighteen steamboats later, you were whacking my chest until I let you up for air as my Mom and Jenkins laughed at how I'd dipped you while I gave you a '_my God, woman, that's incredible pudding_' kiss.

"Oh my God, what's in that?" That pudding? Wow.

"It's a ricotta and white chocolate pudding with dried cherries and shelled pistachios. There's some dark chocolate bark to be broken into pieces over the top when it's ready to serve."

And then I had a thought as the amazingness of the unsolicited new pudding gave me pause. "Wait. Am I going to have to shovel my way back out to the car before we go to Mass tonight?"

Jenkins nodded, looking rueful. "Unfortunately. I gave all the house elves the night off, so you Booth-Brennans and Master Jack are going to have to deal with the snow that has started falling again."

"Fine," I grumbled. "But Bones, you better have saved me extra if I'm going to have to head up the shoveling brigade."

"I did," you said, with a twinkle in your eye. "But it's hidden until you get all the shoveling done."

Mom snickered and Jenkins smirked, so I decided I'd better salvage what smarts I could. I strode masterfully over to the fridge and removed each bit of eggplant, beets, green bell peppers, and cottage cheese I could find. Still no extra pudding. Damn, Bones.

Ignoring everyone but you as I grabbed the tray with the ham and headed back upstairs, I shot back over my shoulder this parting comment. "Damn, Bones. You've got another dimension up your sleeve or something, just to hide food you don't want me to eat yet."

"It was behind the miso paste!"

Figures. I hate miso.

* * *

We'd been yakking with my parents and Ange while everyone else followed Jack down to the bowling after supper when you sacked out on the sofa next to Mom. Mom shifted to pull your head into her lap so you could stretch out, and started stroking the hair back that fell in your face.

"Should you take her upstairs?" she asked, her expression concerned, but Ange shook her head just as I did.

"She'll wake up once she's had a bit of a nap. If Booth puts her to bed now she'll be too groggy to wake up for Mass, but if she stays down here she'll just snooze a bit and be fresh enough to go when it's time."

Mom just shook her head. "Indomitable."

I hope so.

* * *

It was still snowing after Midnight Mass was over, and damned if we're not in for the whitest Christmas ever, because it was still coming down after we came out. You were sitting in the back with Mom and Parks and Jared with Dad in the front. I was trying to keep my eye on the road, but it's always interesting hearing what Parks has to ask after Mass. He was curled up in your lap, but it was bad enough out that I didn't want to split everyone up into two cars, whether or not there was room for child seats.

"What was your favorite part, Uncle Jared?" he asked, and Jared talked about the advent candles. Parks polled everyone in the car, and got everyone's responses—the traditional "Silent Night" sung with lit candles but no electric lights at the end of the service, the reading of the angel's announcement to the shepherds, the thundering organ interlude between the third and fourth verses of "Oh Come All Ye Faithful."

"How about you, Bones? What was your favorite part?"

You looked thoughtful for a moment. "I always liked the '_What Child is This_' carol."

"How come?" he asked.

"Because every child should have so many people waiting to greet them and take care of them as the infant Jesus did. It's nice to know that you're wanted and loved. It doesn't always stay that way, but if there's just a little bit of that when you're young, it can go a long way, no matter what happens after you get older."

I love you. You know that, right? No matter what happens when we get older. Even if older just means tomorrow.


	73. Chapter 73

73.

There was the studied shifting of a small body trying insistently to wake up the parents between whom he is sleeping without being too "obvious" about it. Parker insisted on coming to bed with us last night, saying "Bones doesn't want to miss Santa first thing tomorrow, Daddy." Because six year old logic for getting us up as early as possible is as subtle as the actual attempt to wake us.

"Nnnnrrrgh, Parks, knock it off," you grumbled. "It's like oh-dark-thirty. Go back to sleep."

He wormed his way up further between us, kicking me about four times with his footed pyjamas and you several times more. "Daddy," he stage whispered, patting your face with the side of his hand, "you have to get up. Santa came already, there's reindeer poop on the patio n' everything next to the Inuit snowman. And Daddy, they ate _all_ the carrot noses off all the snow people, all seventeen dif'rent ethnic subpopulations. You can see it out the window." I cracked an eye open and stifled a laugh as you answered seriously.

"Reindeer poop?"

Parks nodded, his blond curls bobbing on the pillow. "I think so. It looks big, and Jenkins said reindeers are big."

"Well, Jenkins would know," you replied.

"Bones, too, but she's asleep."

"No, I'm up, buddy," I mumbled, and he flipped around to look at me.

"Bones, the reindeers ate all the carrot noses and even the celery nasal septums on the snow people. Santa totally came!"

"Reindeer, Parker, is the appropriate plural. I heard you tell your father there were droppings similar to reindeer outside on the patio?"

"Yeah, it looks like it from here, but we hafta look to see if they're consistent with the droppings of other even toed ungulates like you and Jack showed me."

Your eyes widened behind him in concern at the thought of his wanting to personally inspect the droppings. While I wouldn't put it past Jenkins to have actually obtained reindeer droppings, but I would do what I could to head it off at the pass.

"I can probably tell from up here, Parker," I said. "I think your Dad brought his binoculars. Let me just get up and put on a robe and we'll go out on the balcony and look, okay?"

He immediately bounced out of bed and dragged over the first robe he could find as I rolled over onto my side and pushed up. "Here, Bones…" he said, holding it out and bouncing in place as patiently as is possible for a six-year old on Christmas. "Thanks, pal," I said, as you groaned and rolled out of bed, then started rummaging through the plastic tote full of equipment we'd brought from the house. "Why don't you help your dad find his bathrobe and we'll all go out and look together, okay?"

"Okay!" he yelled, as I wobbled up and got my robe on and belted around me.

"Binoculars. Got 'em," you grunted. "Parks, so help me, it's just six in the morning. I've got a rule for you buddy. From now on, you can't wake us up until it's as late in the morning as you're old. So next year? Bones and I get to sleep until seven."

Parker just looked innocent as he said "Put on some pants, Daddy, and come help me and Bones look at the reindeer poop."

* * *

Having confirmed that the poop did, in fact, appear to be that of a large ruminant, we were able to convince Parker that he could allow us a half hour to take a shower and get somewhat more dressed than pyjamas and robes.

"But… I don't want them to start without me," he grumbled, as you wrestled him into the shower while I sat on the bench and did my hair. The sound of the two of you arguing from behind the shower curtain as you made him wash was quite amusing.

"Parks, pal, they're not going to start without you, you're the kid of the house, everyone else is company. Now, here, use that washcloth. Your ears are growing potatoes, they're so gross. I'm going to have some words for Grandpa about letting you go to Mass with your ears so dirty."

"I washed! Grandpa too! He said it's hard! How come you don't have potatoes?" Parker asked.

"Bones is really good at helping me wash behind my ears. She's very fastidious. She makes sure my bellybutton stays real clean, too, and yours, pally boy, looks like another potato farm."

There was a thoughtful pause before Parker spoke again. "Maybe girls are just better at helping boys wash. Maybe I should ask Emma. She seems really clean, and she always smells nice. I bet she could help me with my bellybutton."

"Umm… Bones? A little help here…"

"Sorry, Seeley, he's your son." I stifled a chuckle.

Your aggrieved voice arose from behind the shower curtain-- right after you told Parker "Okay, buddy, close your eyes and rinse your hair," you lifted your voice to say crankily, "So basically, if he's, ah, physically advanced for his age, he's my son, and if he's a master of squintitude, he's your son."

"Basically."

"Punk, Bones."

"Daddy, Bones isn't really a countercultural British rock and roll movement. Why do you always say that she is?"

"My point stands," you grumbled.

I couldn't help but burst out laughing at your next complaint. "Ugh. Parker, you've got Mac and Cheese under your nails. That's wasted food, buddy, in addition to being gross the next day. What do we do if we get food under our nails after we're done eating?"

"Go to the bathroom, suck it all out where no one can see us, and then wash our hands."

"That's my boy."

* * *

We were still the first ones down there at quarter to seven, having all donned casual clothes and wheedled Parker into agreeing to actually wear shoes.

"Dad, the floors are clean, why do I hafta?" he'd complained as we headed downstairs.

"Because the floors are Carrara marble, which is cold, buddy. Warm socks and shoes are the key to a happy life."

"I have good socks," he said, pausing to lift the legs of his jeans to take in the red and green polka dot socks we'd gotten him with some other clothes at his birthday. "They're happy colors, and Bones says they're whimsical."

"That's right, pal. You keep wearing bright socks, maybe someday you'll have your very own Bones."

He looked up at both of us and looked thoughtful. "I'm gonna need more socks."

* * *

You set me down inside the doorway to the parlor and I made my way following Parker over to a deep backed settee near the tree with enough floor space in front for Parker to pile whatever presents he received someplace where they wouldn't be trampled.

"Where'd Daddy go, Bones?" Parker asked, as he lay on his stomach, looking up under the tree branches to watch the lights sparkle.

"He went to go make coffee and start some hot water for tea and get you guys some juice."

"Can we open presents yet?"

"No, Parks, we have to wait for everyone to come down, that's the deal."

"Can I go wake them up?"

"No."

"But, Bones! The anticipation is making me fraught!" He'd rolled over onto his stomach to look at me with that pouty puppy look on his face, articulating the long words perfectly.

"Parker Booth. Do not think that charming me with big words used in the appropriate context is going to make me change my mind about what's fair to everyone."

Jack came in on the tail end of this, and laughed as Parker took her in and shifted his pouty puppy look to him. "Uncle Jack, make Bones let me open some presents."

Jack sat down next to me, slinging his arm over the settee behind me, and said "Sorry, dude. Nobody makes Double-B do anything she doesn't want to do. Any woman who's worth their salt is like that, too. Girls who just want to go along with whatever you say are wicked boring."

Parker thought that over for a moment, then rolled back onto his back to look up under the tree again.

"Good morning, Dame Double-B," Jack said, as we watched Parker idly kick his feet back and forth as he watched the lights.

"Good morning, Sir Jack. Merry Christmas," I replied.

"It is," he replied. "Where's Sir Seeley?"

I chuckled. "I believe he is battling the Demons of Decaf in the kitchen, with the assistance of the Earl of Herbal Tea. He may also be enlisting the aid of Squire Citric Acid, I'm not really sure. And Lady Angela?"

"She's finishing something, she's going to be along soon."

"Did she even go to sleep last night?"

He shook his head. "No—but I think everyone will be pleased."

Just then, Hallie and Emma rushed in and threw themselves under the tree with Parker. "Parker!" Emma yelled. "All the reindeer noses are gone, and there's reindeer poop next to the Inuits! Just like Jenkins said there was going to be!"

Parker sat up to look at her seriously, nodding in agreement. "I told Bones and she looked at it with Dad's 'noculars and she said it's definitely ungulate poop."

"What's ungulate?" Emma asked.

You came back in with a tray of beverages, some clementines, and the muffins your mother made yesterday and set them down on the table in the middle of the room just as Parker was finished explaining the differences between even and odd toed ungulates, and how to tell a ruminant's droppings from that of a carnivore.

"So, if there's hay or grass it's a ruminant, and if it's not it's an omnivore or a carnivore?"

Parker nodded solemnly. "That's what Bones says." He then looked searchingly at us as you came to perch on the settee arm next to me before turning to speak to my niece again.

"Emma," he said with a mini charm-smile. "I have Christmas socks, wanna see?" And without further ado, he pulled up the legs of his jeans and stuck his feet out proudly.

"Oooh," Emma responded. "Those are fun. Most boys have boring socks."

Parker just smiled and waggled his eyebrows.

* * *

The carnage of wrapping paper and ribbon three children can inflict is truly amazing. The further chaos inflicted by one entomologist trying to convince the kids to sort the paper into compostable and noncompostable piles while enthralling them with stories about earthworms only added to the circus atmosphere.

"Temperance? More chamomile tea?"

"Yes, Jared, thank you, that would be lovely."

"You two are getting on like gangbusters," I commented. I mean, really. Usually he's put his foot in it by now with one or both of us, but he's actually been really great this weekend, good with the kids (not that he isn't always) and helpful around the house. "What's the deal? Bones, you gonna ditch me for my brother?"

"Can't a brother-in-law thank his lovely sister-in-law for her early Christmas present with appropriate expressions of gratitude?"

"Bones, you gave Jar something else besides the bacon of the month club?"

Jared nodded solemnly. "Yes, and not that I'm not looking forward to almost all the bacon I can eat, but Seel—but when we were video chatting last week, Temperance gave me something that I think will help me resolve my organizational problems within the next few weeks or two. It's already worked wonders the few times I tried it."

"Okay. Let's see it."

He thought for a moment, then concentrated.

"Not bad, Jar, not bad. You keep practicing that eyebrow thing, though, it'll come easier the more you work at it."

He grumbled a bit as you sat there, a small smile on your face, then chuckled as he said, "yeah, I'd like to see you do better."

Without breaking a sweat, I busted out the new and improved Evil Booth Glare. His jaw dropped, an involuntary "ooohhhh," escaping him.

When he'd recovered himself, he looked at me intently. "Okay. Gotta practice the eyebrow thing, I get it. But how do you do that thing where you make your eyes get darker? That's some scary shit, Seel."

"Jared, you need to leave your own mark on the EDG. If you just copy mine, it won't be as effective. You just need to think of the thing that pisses you off that the people you're glaring at do, and try and put that behind it. So… what gets you hot under the collar?"

He thought for a moment, said "Inflated sales pipeline numbers," and tried it on for size again. Just then, Jenkins walked in with more OJ, and shot Jar a look.

"What's up, man? Someone jerking the numbers around on you? That sucks, dude. You go nail those bastards." He shook his head sympathetically and walked off.

My brother broke off the Evil Jar Glare with a smile. "Hah. It's mine, baby."

"Jenkins tested and approved."

* * *

Our little family trooped downstairs with our bevy of tribute to Jenkins in hand, and knocked on the door to his living room not long afterward. He looked up with a smile, clearly in the midst of piling gifts of his own for going out.

"C'mon in, y'all," he said.

"What's in the cards today, Jenkins?" I asked.

He smiled a tight smile. "Well, Sid and Jeanne and Sweet Caroline and I are getting together but… well… we're meeting Caroline's mother for the first time to have dinner with her."

"Dude…" breathed Jack. "No wonder you've been dropping glasses all morning. Mama Julian's got to be tres formidable."

"Tell me about it," Jenkins replied, shaking his head. "I stayed up all night making divinity and candied pecans for the woman. If she doesn't give me the thumbs up, Caroline may kick my ass to the curb. At least Sid has to do most of the cooking."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem, Jenkins," you said, giving him your '_charm the older gentlemen_' charm smile. He instantly smiled in response. "We do have some items for you which may bolster your courage, however," you continued, as Jack handed him the brightly wrapped packages we four arranged for him.

The first package was a large box that contained several smaller boxes. Jenkins' face turned from puzzlement to amusement to hysterical laughter. "Custom colored Jack Purcells. These are great, y'all. Thanks."

Jack sniggered. "Well, what else to get the man who's done everything?"

"Right you are," he retorted with a smile, and then started opening the other packages we'd brought down.

By the time he was done unwrapping the next set of presents, he was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face. "These," he whooped, "these are just perfect. I'm going to wear this one today," he said, pointing to the third of the four custom-printed Hawaiian shirts we'd all designed and ordered through the little old Hawaiian lady who taught you Pacific Islander dialects one winter during grad school.

Jenkins held up the shirt boldly printed with Smokey Robinson, Aretha Franklin, and other Motown bands with whom either he or Caroline toured. On the far right front corner of the shirt, Malikea'd done a nice job weaving in Angela's dad, even got his beard in nicely.

He took in the three other shirts we'd had printed-- one with the Aleyeska pipeline, Inuit seal hunters, sleds and Iditarod markers, another with calculators, balance sheets, the GAO letterhead seal, and pencils all over it, and the last one with the Elysee Palace interspersed with the Monte Carlo casino and various sights of the Mediterranean Coast, including one small scene of Jenkins, Jackie O, and Aristotle kicking back on his yacht. "You kids," he said, wiping his eyes as he continued to laugh. "Look, she even got Jackie's glasses just right!"

Then he turned back to the sneakers, and back at the shirts. "These colors coordinate with the shirts. That's awesome. These ice blue ones match the glaciers in the Alaska one just perfectly."

Jack snickered. "Booth insisted you were a man who appreciated coordinating accessories."

Jenkins rolled his eyes at him. "Just because you have no taste." He grinned at me, then opened his eyes wider as I handed him the final package.

As he opened it, he just said "Ooohhh. Cashmere. Pretty. I've never seen Hawaiian print socks before. These match perfectly." He looked up in awe. Heh. Looks like there's something you know that Jenkins doesn't.

"Bones knows a goatherd whose wife has a crazy knack for cashmere socks," I said with a smile.

Jenkins looked at the socks again, then looked up at you, his eyes narrowing. "How long have you known Dube?"

Figures. You know a Mongolian goatherd, and Jenkins does too.

* * *

"Having fun so far, baby?" you asked, as we went back upstairs so I could have a short nap. It was a long morning, and the children had really enjoyed themselves, but I was glad that they wanted to go outside and go ice skating for a hours before dinner. All that orange juice and Clementines and muffins has their blood sugar pitched rather high.

"I am," I said, kicking off my clogs and peeling my things off to get into bed. "I'm glad our families seem to be enjoying each other, and the children seem to be having fun, too."

You slid in with me, and I turned over to look at you. "Booth. I'm fine. You should go join Parker outside."

You shook your head. "Nah. Mom and Dad've got him, Dad's a great skater, so he'll be fine, and Mom's not bad either. The girls will be doing pirouettes in no time. Besides, Parks woke us up at the crack of dawn, and we didn't get to bed until almost one. I could use a few zz's with my favorite squint wife."

"Well, then, I could hardly say no to my favorite cop husband," I said, smiling. "Although your terminology is worrisome. Do you have other squint wives, and I just happen to be your favorite?"

"Punk, Bones, punk," you growled, as you pulled me into your arms. "Now sleep."

* * *

I'd set the alarm for an hour, and was pleased to see I'd actually woken a few minutes early. I reveled in the idea of waking and falling asleep at times of my own choosing, and snuggled a little back into you, because really, you're quite warm and smell nice. I therefore let you throw the alarm across the room when it went off, laughing to myself.

"S'not funny," you grumbled. "We need to slip him some Nyquil tonight to make sure he stays asleep until at least eight tomorrow. All this running around's got me tired."

"Poor Booth," I chuckled. "Three children, three grandparents, and five aunt and uncle figures and he's beset by one six-year old."

"Yeah, but he's a Booth six-year old. S'different," you grumbled. "Though did you see that eyebrow waggle he gave Emma?"

"I did. She seemed very impressed by the firetruck and other construction equipment socks we gave him."

You turned to look at me, a merry twinkle in your eye, slipping an arm under me as you leant up on your side. "Who wouldn't want backhoes on their socks?"

"I know. That's why I got them for you, too," I reminded you. We'd exchanged some of our smaller gifts with everyone else this morning while the children and families were all opening presents, but we'd agreed that our little family would go off for a bit after dinner and exchange our more personal presents.

"Yeah, well, I didn't see you complaining about those red-sequined clogs I got you."

"I'm not," I said, "They're totally awesome, as Lance would say. I fully intend to wear my ruby slippers quite frequently. Although I won't need to click my heels three times with them."

"Why's that, Dorothy?" you said, taking the opportunity to nuzzle my neck.

"Because I'm always home if I'm with you," I said, meaning every single sappy word of it.

Your "me too," was muffled as you rolled atop me, threading your fingers through my hair as we kissed. I lost myself to the taste and feel of your tongue and lips against mine as your weight and warmth bore me into the bed. Your fingers pressed and massaged my scalp as we continued to kiss, while I grasped your sides with my hands, wanting your heat all along me.

"You're always my home," you rasped in my ear as you pulled my head back with one of the hands in my hard, "always my everything," you continued, your other hand tracing paths over my skin that left tingling fire in their wake. Your erection pressed firmly into my thigh and I hitched myself under you, dragging one foot up the side of your leg as your mouth made its way from my neck to my breasts. Your wandering hands slipped behind me, cradling my bottom in your palms as you kneaded me. I ground my hips against you as the tension built in me-- your weight on me and your slow teasing kisses and touches made the heat and ache in my core grow stronger, but you made no move to enter me as long minutes passed. I pulled at you with my hands, trying to bring you closer.

"Seeley," I panted, impatient to have you inside me.

You rolled your head from where you were sucking my breasts to look up at me. "Yes, Temperance?" you said, a mischievous look in your eye.

"I want you, now," I whined, then hitched my hips under you again.

"Now, Bones," you said, lunging upward and pinning my hands under yours, "one of the joys of Christmas is the anticipation. Good things come to good girls who wait."

"I'm not a good girl," I said, writhing against you again as you kept my hands pinned. "And I don't want to wait."

Your eyes glinted. "Now Bones, there are so many pleasures in delayed gratification. Just think, it's another opportunity to learn something new every day."

At that, you renewed your slow assault on my breasts, sucking firmly but slowly until heat spiked through me each time you released one nipple to work at the other, the weight of your body still making it impossible for me to do much than squirm beneath you as you continued to hold my hands up and away from you, so I could neither touch you nor relieve the tension building in me. My "pleases" soon yielded to tense moans, my body writhing uncontrollably from just the feel of your mouth on those two points of pleasure. I groaned in relief when you shifted, but that was short-lived, as your hands over mine remained firm while you knelt up to press my thighs tightly shut between your knees. I cried out in frustrated pleasure as you stroked your hard length over the cleft of my pubis, your weight and heat grinding over my need-engorged clitoris. You set a slow rocking motion, sliding me over time and again as the moisture between my legs seeped upward, lubricating your motions even as my thighs remained tightly clenched between yours.

When I could no longer tell what moans or pleas were coming from my lips, you changed to a new form of torture, pushing yourself between my legs and plunging your tip inside my entrance, then stopping. I let out some half frustrated, half pleased sound, but it was my hips bucking toward you that caught your attention.

"Unh-unh," you said, dragging my hands down with yours and then placing my hands under yours over my hips, pressing me even more firmly into the bed as I vainly tried to take you in further. "Wait for it, Temperance."

I was hoarse with panting and half-whimpered pleas as you massaged only the first few inches of my entrance with the thick head of your penis—you rocked slowly in and out as my walls cramped, needing more. When I thought I could no longer stand it, my hips straining against you without any will on my part, you surged into me fully, and I came instantly, the relief of you filling me so suddenly shattering all the pent up tension at once.

I shrieked, the sensation taking me over, then found myself building again even as my first climax still gripped me. The pressure of my shuttered legs and the friction of your sliding over my clitoris as you pumped slowly and fully into me built me inexorably again, as all the while your hands and weight held me pinned to the bed. My back arched against the wave of sensation in my next orgasm, the curve of my body allowing you deeper inside me, and I screamed as the new depth brought you hard over my g-spot.

I fell limp from the force of the climax, panting and whimpering as I felt my walls flutter and flood around you, your heat still thick and urgent within me.

"Oh, God," I moaned. "Oh…"

Your arms slid up under me, our chests pressed together as you panted, your own expression heavy with delayed need as I brought my legs up to wrap behind your back.

"So good," you ground out, as the new position brought you deeper inside me. My own moan at the new depth and points of friction caused you to jerk into me more quickly, and I pulled you to me with my arms circling you in response.

My own "so good" turned into a gasp of surprise as one hand made its way between us to twist lightly at one of my nipples, and my hips arched hard against yours in reflex. The slow teasing rhythm of earlier now yielded to a more urgent pace, less smooth and even, more hungry. Your fingers on my nipple surprised a scream from me as I came again with no warning—one hard thrust brought you hard against my cervix just as your fingertips exerted that pleasurable painful pressure, and I again seized with pleasure, my walls grasping you so tightly and wrenchingly that your next return forced another orgasm from me. My sense of things evaporated for long moments, as the bolt of my orgasm drew all my attention inward.

I heard you shout, felt your hot pulsing release within me, felt your strong arms and legs circling and enfolding me as my body slowly relaxed, and felt the warmth of your body curling behind mine as you pulled the covers over us again. I heard myself say, too, once again meaning it, "home."

--

"You kids have a nice nap?" Angela leered as we wandered back into the sunroom after we woke up again. "You missed lunch, three words I never thought I'd ever find myself saying to Booth."

Amy and Russ laughed, as did your Dad.

"Har, har, har," I commented. "I am capable of going three or four hours without stoking this magnificent physique with needed fuel." I jokingly flexed my arms, and you snickered as you plopped down next to Angela. "Besides," I said, shooting you guys a grin, "Mom's going to let me help make supper with you, Ange, so I'll get lots of snacks then."

You made a mock-dismayed face. "Ange… there won't be any food left for the rest of us to eat if you let Booth help cook."

Angela laughed. "No, Caroline and I have already planned for that. Booth will be doing strictly vegetable preparation, he's not going to be allowed near anything cooked or with animal protein in it, and on no account will he be allowed to carve the meat."

I pouted, and you leered at me. "Don't worry, Booth, I'll let you carve the meat later."

"Tempe!" exclaimed Russ, turning bright red.

"What?" you said, mock-innocently. "There are going to be leftovers. Booth can carve the rest and eat them off the roast all he likes then."

Amy snickered. "Don't be a priss, Russ. You got to carve the roast this morning while the kids were checking the reindeer poop."

"Amy!" Russ exclaimed, turning even more red.

Look, Booth. More family members to embarrass with sexual innuendo.

* * *

"Bones?"

"Yes, Parker?" I asked, turning to look at him from where he'd knelt up on his chair, one of the many brocade seated, ebony wood chairs that surrounded the smaller of the dining room tables.

"Why's it so fancy?" he asked, taking in the heirloom china and crystal, fine linens, silverware and candles galore decorating the table.

"Jack's family had a lot of money for a long time before he came along, and they accumulated a lot of fancy things. You don't need fancy things to be happy, but if they're pretty, it's nice to use them on special occasions. And Christmas is definitely special."

"It's really sparkly," he said, looking up and down the table again as the candlelight flickered on crystal water glasses and wine goblets. "Sparkly's good."

The table sat twenty, but we thirteen sat clustered toward one end, our fathers and brothers holding down each end as Hallie sat at the head between our brothers. She's become quite attached to Jared this weekend, and for whatever reason he seems to be amused by her imperiousness. Russ told me Jared spent almost a half-hour showing Hallie how to bowl last night. You, Jack, Angela, and your mother came up bearing the rest of the dishes—I'd already ladeled out the fire-roasted tomato bisque with goat cheese croutons from the silverplate tureen and into the soup bowls, and the frisee, pomegranate, and candied walnut salad was already plated and sitting on the salad plates to the top of everyone's entrée plate. The kids all clapped as you and Jack thumped the rib roast and stuffed crown roast of pork onto the table, while Angela put down the scalloped potatoes and your mother set out the butter-braised peas and lettuce. My father and I had poured out ample champagne for all the adults, and Jack had raided the cellar for some vintage red wines I know I'll never drink again. I didn't think there were any 1921 Petrus bottles left, much less two, and the 1950 was wonderful.

Jack took his place in the middle of the table, opposite us as you came around to sit next to me. His hand on Angela's shoulder, he looked up and down the table and raised his glass as he looked at all of us.

"I haven't had Christmas dinner in this room in twenty years. We used to have parties of friends and families when I was a kid, and this was where we always had Christmas dinner, a menu much like this. It was a lot of fun; with service for a hundred, it didn't matter if some dishes and crystal got broken, and we always had fun, the three of us and Jenkins and whatever friends of the family we'd have over to eat and hang out. After we had that Thanksgiving plane crash, though, I was laid up all that winter, and afterward, it was a bad memory—so I've pretty much spent every Christmas anywhere but here. This place has always been the family home, and I couldn't bear to give it up—but it didn't feel like my home anymore, not for a long time, because I didn't have a family to make it home. Now, though, the old pile is home again—first with Angela, and then as the Double-B's and Parker came over to hang out and now as they let us put them up despite the fact that Booth needs a Saint Bernard to go after him when he gets lost. The fact that you've all indulged me and Angie and hauled up here for a Squint Family Christmas means a lot. This is the best Christmas that Angie or I have both had in years.

I read someplace, or maybe it was Booth or Brennan who said it, that friends are the family you choose. And Booth and I were talking the other day, and I told him that the way I saw it, home was where ever people cared enough to say goodnight to you. So—Merry Christmas, and goodnight, friends."

I sniffled and raised my own glass of champagne, wishing Jack "Goodnight, friend," in return.

You reached across and clinked glasses with Jack, sniffling "Jerkface" as Jack returned the toast, rubbing his eyes with one hand and calling you "Butthead" as his glass chimed against yours.

"Oh, look Sweetie, they're leaving us for each other," Angela said, reaching over to clink glasses with me.

"Finally. Now you and I can be alone at last," I said, shooting her a wink.

Jack just snickered as you waggled your eyebrows. "Can we watch?" you both said at the same time.

"Ow! Angie!"

"Ow! Bones!"

"Bones, why is Daddy leaving you for Uncle Jack? And what do they want to watch?"

* * *

You settled Parker off in his room across the hall from ours as Angela and I arranged our little family gathering after the children went to bed. Jack came back into the small parlor off the suite Angela and he shared with a bottle of scotch, and queued up some old Christmas tunes in the CD player while we waited for you to come back.

"Parents and siblings all taken care of?" you asked as you came back in, shutting the door and joining me on the deep blue velvet sofa across the coffee table from its match, where Angela and Jack were now ensconsed.

Jack snorted. "Yeah. I set them up with more Grande Dame Rose than even your parents could possibly drink, plus some bourbon and water for your brothers. There was a ton of stilton and nuts and fruits and crackers, too, so I just left them out and told Russ where to put it away when they were done. They're all in stumbling distance of their rooms, so we shouldn't get any calls that they're lost."

Angela reached forward and poured everyone out a measure of scotch, the same as we drank when we first officially became family by choice.

"Merry Christmas, family," she said, and we all downed our glasses in unison. We chatted some about the kids, and the various antics everyone got up to over the course of the weekend, then got down to exchanging gifts.

It was like a happy version of O. Henry's Gift of the Magi. None of us had discussed what gifts we intended to give to the other, or that we intended to give the same gift to each of us—but that was how it played out.

Jack handed out his small packages first. Each one was a round piece of amber, of a size to fit in a pocket or purse but not disappear—each deep golden, with flecks of leaf matter and scarab beetles. They weren't matched, but they were much of a piece, and put on a piece of paper, they looked like they went together. "Modern Wicca practitioners use amber to attract happiness and good luck and increase health and strength, as well as protect children. And scarabs are one of the longest-lived and stable of insect species, as well as what the Egyptians thought kept the sun rising every day. So… attract happiness and health for a long time, guys, and know that you're part of the reason I get up every day."

You went next, again handing out small packages. I recognized it right away when I opened mine, a smaller silver oval on a thin silver chain, a more delicate version of the one you wore, Angela's slightly different than mine and in gold, and Jack's a more masculine but still smaller version of the one you wore. "It's a St. Christopher's medal. He's the patron saint of travelers, one of the Fourteen Holy Helpers. He… protects against sudden death when you're far from home."

Angela sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand as she slipped her medal over her head and Jack and I did the same. Angela's packages were small, as well—a picture of the four of us taken at the Jeffersonian Gala by Sully, when we'd just come off the dance floor while you dancing with Angela and I was dancing with Jack. The four of us stood, me, Jack, Angela, and you, with our arms around one anothers' waists, in the middle of laughing at some joke Cam made about needing to disable the security cameras now that she and Sully were official. She'd given us each two copies of the picture each—one laminated, and small enough to fit in a wallet, and one in a five by seven simple red oak frame. "Oak's the wood used to support anvils and all the force that's brought down on them," she said, her voice choked.

I handed out my own small packages, and everyone opened them to see what they were. small leather planners with pages for every week of the next year. As you started flipping through the small leather planner, one that had two facing pages for every week of the coming year, with some days filled in already, your hand on my knee flexed convulsively. Angela looked up with tears streaming down her face as she came to the date she and Jack had set for their wedding.

"I never miss an appointment," I managed to say. "So far I'm scheduled through June. I'll keep you posted on new appointments."

We were all still sniffling when an old favorite of mine came on the stereo. I started singing along without paying much attention to the fact that the three of you were staring at me, because I hadn't felt like listening to, much less singing the song in a while.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas.  
Let your heart be light,  
From now on our troubles  
Will be out of sight._

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas,  
Make the Yule-tide gay,  
From now on our troubles  
Will be miles away._

_Here we are as in olden days,  
Happy golden days of yore,  
Faithful friends who are dear to us  
Gather near to us once more._

_Through the years  
We all will be together  
If the Fates allow,  
Hang a shining star  
On the highest bough,  
And have yourself  
A merry little Christmas now._

It was my favorite before my family left, and now I have both my old family and my new family-- and you, best of all. It can be my favorite Christmas song again, now. Having one good Christmas with you has been light and gay and golden. We'll see what the Fates allow as to the rest, I've had my merry now.


	74. Chapter 74

_**Many thanks to doctorsuez for some ideas to move this long-stalled chapter along. Thank you so much, Su! And thank you all for your patience at my delay in getting this up.

* * *

  
**_

"Did you have a good Christmas, baby?" I asked, as I set you down once we reached the top of the stairs.

You nodded, taking my arm. "The best one since last year," you said, that sweet shy smile of yours blooming.

When we got back to our room, I was glad to see Parker had decided to spend another night down in the campground with the girls and whomever they'd cajoled into staying with them. Jared had proven surprisingly good with the kids. You slipped off your clothes and settled on top of the bed, pulling a small wrapped package from the bedside table.

"One more for you," you said, that same smile on your face.

I shucked my own things and joined you after rustling out the last present I'd set aside for you.

"You first," I said, handing it to you.

You grinned. "Same time, okay?"

Fine. I really wanted to open mine anyway. I tore the wrapping off the small box, then waited impatiently as you slowly unwrapped yours. Geez , Bones, sometimes you make me want to take things away from you just so you can get to the present part. It's just paper. (I enjoy the care put in to wrapping the present.)

When you'd uncovered the box, I opened mine then swallowed hard through the tears that pooled in my eyes. I'd needed new cufflinks and you'd found some-- had them made, more likely. They were perfect-- two platinum silver gone-to-seed dandelions-- a hard, unbreakable promise to wear on my sleeves.

When I looked up, sniffling, you were looking glittery-eyed at the pictures I'd put in the box, then looked up at me to explain.

"We used to rent a house right on the beach at Cape May in the summers, stay a week or two there. I booked a house for a week after the Fourth of July."

A tear leaked down your face as you nodded. "Good. We need a vacation."

I set my small box aside and reached for you just as you let yours drop softly to the floor.

"I love you, baby," I murmured as I settled over you, kissing your neck and your chest.

"I love you too, Booth," you replied, eyes bright as you ran your hands up my sides. You grasped the back of my neck, pulling me down for a kiss as your other hand wrapped around me, pulling me lightly toward your entrance. I hesitated a moment and you let go, dipping your fingers inside yourself as you murmured "I'm already ready for you, always am" over my lips.

I sunk into you slowly, and we both sighed in relief. "So good," you said huskily, wrapping your arms around me until we were clasped tight to each other. I withdrew and returned slowly again, your velvet heat taking me in as your hands grasped me more firmly, your eyes locked with mine.

I don't know how long we moved together, your hands on my hips pulling me to you. We never quite crashed over the edge as we came close multiple times, but at last you started to tremble in the preamble to your release and I felt myself tighten as your eyes closed and face showed hunger and tension. Your moan as I returned to you more firmly led me to speed the pace, and you came suddenly, eyes opened in shock and release as you cried out my name-- I fell into you one last time, my own orgasm pulled from me by the strength of your own.

Panting and sweating, I dropped to your side and pulled you into me as you pulled at the covers.

"Merry Christmas, Bones," I mumbled into your hair.

"Merry Christmas, Booth-- this was my best Christmas ever because it had you in it."

* * *

Your family stayed a few more days after my parents and Jared left two days after Christmas-- Jar had some trip he had to make, and Dad had to get back to work. "Got to earn my pay if I'm going to retire on time," he'd told you with a wink when you said you were sad to see the three of them go. You'd been the only one to be surprised at how snuffly my parents and Jar got when it was time to leave, or how snuggly my Mom was with you all weekend. Bones-petting does run in the genes. Mom always wanted a girl, too.

I got to stay home the day after Christmas, and we took care of distributing Christmas goodies to Delia and all the folks at the clinic that afternoon, but I had to go to work the next day to see the start of the interviews with all the compromised department employees, and to meet with Orrin Macy, Sam and the Director about how to set up the computer and financial accounts audits. No one who was left was complaining about the computer and financial audits, but there were a few people who started to get itchy when they were told there were going to be interviews of absolutely everyone. My new cufflinks gave me the courage to scare the piss out of a few people to speed things along.

I think, I hope to God, actually, that we'll find that no one else was involved, but that there's some basic incompetence issues that people are worried about being found out about. I could give a damn about that now-- ifsomeone's just an idiot and not a Judas, then that's easy enough to deal with. It was slow again at the lab, so Sully came in and traded off with me and Mel doing interviews of the higher-ranking Agents first.

When I got back to the Hodgins Estate, it was maybe suppertime, so I went off to see where everyone was-- not in the campground, not surprising since a ball room that size is hard to keep warm, all the heat just goes up into the intricately painted Rococco ceilings, so I headed back to the tree room. No one there either, but lots of signs it was occupied earlier. The kids had gotten so many presents that there were still some here, as well as scattered in the campground and all the way along the corridors to the sunroom. I figured I could find my way along the trail of toys to where you all were hiding, but when I reached the sunroom after nearly falling over another of one of Emma's "historical girls and women of note" dolls that you got her (I've got to say, Bones, I like Emily Dickinson's poetry, but the doll's kinda creepy.) (Unfortunately, I agree. Perhaps I should have gotten the Amy Lowell or Maya Angelou.) (Maya, please. Russ and Amy would kill us both if they ever looked up Amy Lowell.) no one was there, either. Fine. I know better by now than to try to head out on my own. When in doubt, pick up the cell. Although Jack really needs to install some cell receivers in here, the reception's so spotty.

"Hi, ho, Silver. You're home. Where are you?" you said, sounding pretty chipper.

"Small sunroom. Where are you guys?"

"Media room. The girls and Parker wanted to watch a movie and there wasn't quite room upstairs for everyone. Want me to send someone up?" You were sounding amused.

"No. I've got my map," I replied, pulling it out of my back pocket. Sam snickered like hell when it came out at the same time as my wallet when I was paying for lunch-- he'd grabbed it and was examining it, making fun of me for needing it. He shut up when I said, "Fine. You figure your way around a house with three of everything, at least." Then he'd looked at the map more closely, and said "Bowling alley? That's cool..."

"Okay. We're three rooms due east on the left hand side past the bowling alley." There was some yelling in the background, and then you got back on the phone.

"Dad wants you to stop in the kitchen and pick up more popcorn and Milk Duds as well as some milk and soda. Jenkins said there are several tote bags under the sink that you can put everything in."

I tucked the phone under my ear as I headed downstairs to the kitchen. "Movie junk food and milk, got it. You want anything?"

"Another red grapefruit would be nice, they're in a bowl in the pantry."

"You want a spoon and sugar and all that stuff?"

You snorted. "No. Temperance Brennan, bitter and sour, remember? I take my grapefruit straight up."

"You're tougher than me, Bones, that's for sure. But I wouldn't say bitter or sour. How about acerbic and intolerant of fools?"

You snorted on the other end of the line as I made it to the kitchen and stuck two bags of popcorn in the microwave, then went to go get your grapefruit. I mean, whatever you want, but yuck. "Face it, you would have called me bitter and sour three years ago."

"Nah, three years and eight months ago, maybe, but then you would have called me an impertinent jackanape, so we're even, right baby?" Ah, tote bag, Milk Duds, soda cans. Awesome. I found the milk and shoved it in the bag on top.

"I rather think I would have called you a disrespectful ass, but the sentiment's the same, yes." The microwave beeped then, and for once not all the popcorn was burned. I hate that smell.

"You're so sweet, Bones. You still would have jumped me in the gun range if I kissed you."

"Well, so would you, you sweet-talker, you. I like to think we've both evolved."

"Yeah. Okay, got the goodies, last chance for anything else before I make the arduous trek to the media room."

"Hold on," you said, then called around. "No, nothing else. There's pizza still if you want something besides popcorn and chocolate for supper. See you soon,jackanape."

"Harridan."

"Lout."

"Shrew."

"Love of my life."

All of a sudden a new voice came on-- your Dad's. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, love of my life, Booth. Get your ass down here with my popcorn."

"Don't make me shoot you, Max. It's been such a nice couple of days. Give the phone back to Bones." There was a dry chuckle, and you came back on.

"As I was about to say, love of my life. But Dad's right. I do want my grapefruit."

"Yes, Bones."

* * *

We watched the several classic movies and you pretended to have a heart attack when I sang along with the songs. It's modern pop culture that I find it hard to muster interest in, Booth. I have watched _Mary Poppins_ and _Bedknobs and Broomsticks_ before. At the start of the second movie, Emma and Parker were both asleep, but Hallie was still awake and engrossed in the story, so you and Russ settled the children at the back of the room so the noise disturb them less.

I'm glad that you and my father feel comfortable enough to fight over the last few pieces of pizza, and that Russ dove in to snatch the last piece of pepperoni while the two of you were squabbling in low tones about '_taking it outside_,' whatever that means. I do promise I won't teach either my father or Russ any version of the EDG, however. It was so amusing to see Russ drop the last slice immediately, and to see my father back off as you gave them the '_look, Brennans, I didn't help you get out of prison sooner than you would on your own just so you could steal my pizza_' look. That's quite a good look, by the way. (Well, if I bust out the EDG all the time it loses effectiveness. You've got to change it up and use proportional force, you know?)

Toward the end of the second movie, however, Parker made his way back over to crawl up into your lap and whisper the Adventures of Parker and Emma from earlier in the day. I was trying to concentrate on the denouement of the film, but was quite amused to hear your _sotto voce_ responses.

"Hibernating snakes, hunh?"

"Jello and fruit flies?"

"Wood file and carpenter's glue?"

"Miss Ellie, too?"

It sounded like that children's game-- telephone? Quite an improbable combination of things. (Yeah, well, you leave the kids alone with Russ and Jack while you and your Dad go off to the doctor's and Amy and Ange go shopping, and you're going to have a concatenation of weirdchildrens' activities.)(Concatenation, hmm?)(Continuity, connection, integration, nexus, too.) (Oooh, I do love polysyllabic synonyms, Seeley.) (C'mere, woman.)

* * *

"Tempe?"

Russ was doing a fairly good job of not looking perturbed at all the chemotherapy equipment-- I wasn't so much surprised as well, alright, fine, I was surprised that he volunteered to come with me to therapy this afternoon-- Billy called my father to come help him with a large delivery of items for the bar's upgrade. But I'd never asked him, nor had you, since as you've said he has enough medical drama in coping with Hallie. But he'd gotten tight-lipped when Dad and I came back last night from the doctor's-- at least I'd only needed carrying down the stairs before I could trail the wall the rest of the way to the media room. Wall-assisted ambulation, woo-hoo. I'll get the stairs thing back under my belt any day now.

Anyhow. Jack had gone to work and you were still doing interviews with Sully and Mel and Dad got the call from Billy-- I figured Dad could just drop me off on the way and come back and get me later, and that's what we were planning on doing when Russ said he'd come. Amy'd blinked, but Emma and Parker and Hallie were already invested in the idea of going to Angela's studio that afternoon anyway, so it wasn't quite as if she was going to be left alone at the house with the children, so she just nodded, and we all finished our lunch. Jenkins makes a lovely spicy beefyaki soba, and his seaweed salad is delicious too, by the way.

After we were done, Parker agreeably showed Russ the way up to our room to grab my coat and things, and when they came back twenty minutes later I'd already had Jenkins help me upstairs as he finished telling me about how Caroline and Jeanne's mother had apparently decided that he and Sidney were treating her daughters with the appropriate level of "_worshipful respect a Julian lady deserves_." She sounds quite formidable, Booth. I think I'd like to meet her if we can get Caroline to arrange it.

We got to the medical center and up to the suite and I introduced Russ to Delia before she sent him off to my usual room while we met, and then she followed me back down to make sure I got settled while Celia and the other nurses got me all plugged in. He's certainly seen IVs before, heaven knows, but I suppose having only known Hallie while sick and me only while healthy makes a difference. Once Celia bustled off off, he'd said my name in that hesitant tone.

"Yes, Russ?"

"Are you... do you... I wish I had more time for this, and I'm sorry. I worry about you, and I just..." he trailed off, lost for words.

I looked at him, and he was looking guilty and stricken. "I miss you too, Russ. It's okay. I could have called you back all those years, too. But ... we never know what's going to happen."

He shook his head. "Still. It used to be my job, you know?"

I did. "I know, Russ, and ... well, we all change and grow up, right? Amy and her girls have you the same way I have Booth."

He smiled at the mention of his wife and step-daughters, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd have kids, much less adopted ones and pre-packaged family life."

"Neither did I," I snorted. "Although trust me, you're better off without all the extra shooting and stalking that mine comes with."

His face turned serious. "This, too. It's just ... you never got sick, Tempe. It's not fair, you know? You work your ass off, and then something like this comes along. I just wish there was more I could do-- more that any of us could do."

I nodded. "I don't like it either. But ... it is what it is, and despite it all I've been more happy than I had in the last decade. And that's from having you and Dad back too, not just Booth. Compared to everything else ... well, it's worth a lot of what happened before."

He closed his eyes, thinking. "Was it ... bad?" We'd never discussed my time in the foster system. He didn't want to hear it, and I didn't want to talk about it. Until now, maybe.

"Some of it. Some of it was just indifferent. A few places they tried to be kind, but I was still too wrapped up in my own misery to really recognize it until later."

Tears started leaking down his face as he listened. "I ... kind of lost it after I left. I shouldn't have, ever." He reached over and gripped my hand hard, as if to underscore his seriousness.

"It was hard on both of us Russ, but ... we're both in good places now, right?"

He nodded, looking around as he laughed bitterly. "If you can call a private chemotherapy room a better place, then yeah, I suppose so. What's up with that anyway?"

I was relieved for the change of subject. "Booth and I kept getting shot at and were in the midst of trying to work a case-- either he or Sully and I would work in here while I was getting treatment. Delia decided I should just use it most of the time since I usually am doing some kind of work."

He nodded. "I was wondering. Always a nerd, Temp," he said, nodding at the laptop I'd brought with me to work on the new book outline and to draft some remarks for the upcoming ACS meeting at the end of the month. "Your nurse was saying that this place is rolling in dough since you got sick..."

"Yes, well- people always want to send things to the celebrities with whom they feel a connection, and while it is both thoughtful and flattering to know that someone has been so affected by one's work, stuffed teddy bears and get well soon cards don't help the larger matters-- so I asked my publisher's PR department to say that in lieu of cards or gifts, they could make donations here or to the ACS or a similar charity."

"Is it weird? The celebrity thing?"

I shook my head. "It is. I don't care for it, really, and honestly, I started the books just as a way to pass the time between boyfriends. But... most people don't accost authors while they're out shopping, so it's really only an issue at signings or for a few weeks this fall when we first found out everything. It's died down since then."

I paused, then offered the real answer to the frequently-asked question about why I started writing the books in the first place. "I was actually thinking about Princess Poodilina and the Magician Marcello when I started writing the first one-- I just missed telling stories, I guess."

He smiled disbelievingly as I mentioned these stories the two of us used to make up when I was very small, maybe five and he eight-- if I'd get scared of the dark, I'd go into his room, and he'd let me crawl in with him under the covers and turn on the flashlight. He'd make up these stories about a magician and his princess sister and their adventures all over all sorts of kingdoms. Some of the stories were silly, some of them pointless, and some of them scary, but there were a lot of them.

In the beginning, Russ was the one who told all the stories, but as I got older I began to interrupt him and add my own embellishments, until we had long, drawn out stories that could go on for weeks. Eventually we got older, and it became silly for either one of us to admit that Marcello and Poodilina enjoyed one another's company, or for me to come into his room at night, since I was no longer so scared of the dark-- but that connection remained in one small way-- Marco and Polo.

"I tell the girls about Marcello and Poodilina. Emma really likes the one about the chickens in the clouds..."

I couldn't help it. I gasped--"I forgot the chickens in the clouds! How does it go?"

He smiled. "It was right after the one where they vanquished the fire-breathing..."

"Badgers, right..."

"And so Marcello and Poodilina went back to the castle and had Frito Pie in the kitchen when all of a sudden, the chicken boy came in to say all the chickens disappeared."

"That's right..." I couldn't help it, I felt a silly grin erupt on my face. "Have you written them down for the girls yet?"

He shook his head. "There's never time, with work, and just ... everything."

"We have time now," I said, pulling the laptop over again. "We can at least do _The Five Fire Breathing Badgers_ and _The Chickens in the Clouds_."

He grinned. "What about _The Lair of the Extremely Grumpy Gnus_? That was a short one, and that's the one I tell Hallie when she's being a brat."

"Oh... the Gnus," I breathed, remembering. "_Poodilina and Marcello were walking in the forest near their castle one day when they heard a number of loud voices complaining_."

Russ leaned over to look at the screen, then continued. "_The voices sounded like they came from underground, and yet all around at the same time. Looking around, Poodilina said to her brother, 'Marcello, come see! There are hoof marks here, that lead off to those caves over there!_'"

I continued to type. It had been awkward in many ways having Russ and Amy here-- they're conscious of the financial arrangements in a way that I wish that they weren't, but which they can't afford to reject and I can afford to forget about. I'm glad to help, but Amy seems to think as if she ought to treat me differently than as a sister in law, and I just wish that she wouldn't. It makes me self-conscious of something she's self conscious about, and shouldn't be-- it's not like I take care of the properties or did anything other than make it possible for them to not have to worry about rent on top of everything else. But-- she's conveyed that unease to Russ. He's easy with you, the two of you have power equipment to grunt over, but whatever she's confided in him has made him more twitchy than when he just thought he'd abandoned me. And he's alarmed, I know, at my health-- but this was something we could do together that was uncomplicated by everything else-- something no one else but the two of us, and now his girls, know. I'd forgotten so many of them, and never even wrote down the ones I recalled-- but that itch to make up a story to take me away from someplace dark and scary, to someplace where things could be otherwise-- that was what drove me to write in the first place. Given the chance to re-capture it, I wasn't going to let it go by now. I chimed in, but kept typing, Russ making me shove over on the lounge so that he could see the screen better and we could rewrite some of the sentences until they fit what we both recalled. He immediately took on a more baritone version of the narrator voice he'd used when we were little, then modulated his tone to do Marcello's and Poodilina's, as well as those of the grumpy gnus.

_'The brother and sister crept slowly up to the cave, keeping very quiet while the loud grumpy voices continued to complain, the voices getting louder and louder the closer they got. 'I'm cold and this cave is very, very damp,' said one voice. 'My gnu fodder is soggy,' said another. 'You braided my hair wrong,' said a third, higher voice. 'You think you have it so bad,' came an even louder voice. 'All the crayons need sharpening.' There was a chorus of grumbles at this complaint before the voices started all over again. Marcello and Poodilina stopped at the cave's entrance, wide-eyed. They'd never heard so many complaints in such a short time. Whoever lived in this cave was Extremely Grumpy. Exchanging a look, the two children held hands, then crept in, curious about why the voices sounded so grumpy when it was a nice big cave in a lovely forest on a sunny day near a clear crystal stream...'_

By the time treatment was over, and after recording the other three, we'd also written down _Marcello Learns How to Build a Fire_ and _Poodilina Captures a Wild Pony_, as well as _The Potato Patch of Doom_, which is really quite scary, Booth. (I read it, that is scary. In fact, I'm not sure I want Parks to know that one quite yet.) (It's not that scary.) (Glow in the dark Kohlrabi with high creepy voices, Bones? Pretty scary.) (I always thought it was the Evil Squishy Squash that did it.) (That, too.) I'd also laughed with my brother in a way neither of us had for years.

But I think the best part of it all was how we talked a bit about some of the worst of our experiences during the time we were apart in the car on the way home-- by the time he brought me upstairs to our room so I could have a bit of a nap, we'd come up with a new one-- _Marcello and Poodilina Get Separated and Lost in the Really Long, Scary Mystery Maze_ _and Meet Again on the Other Side_.

* * *

We saw your family off two days before New Years', and then you insisted on going in to the lab in the morning in order to deal with a particularly old and moldy skeleton in lousy shape that came in and needed your special squinty eye because someone questioned its age and it was supposed to be unveiled at some Squint-posium in a few weeks. (Hah, hah, Booth, very clever. What's the cognate? A cop-vention ?) (Nice, Bones. Nice one.) You'd been doing better-- still needed help with the stairs, but Jack was around the lab, and still wobbly over longer distances, but you'd gotten a lot of energy back and were eating better, too. I'd planned on taking you to the doctor's, but got a text from Jack that it was "_Slow at lab. Keep rat hunting if you want & will see later_," so I was able to meet again with Orrin Macy and then sit down with some of the files we'd had pulled for some of the people who'd been acting hinky in the interviews.

"Bet you miss that boat right now, Sully," I said, as we sat in one of the conference rooms with a stack of files between us and our feet up on the table, tossing the ones we thought were fishy, rather than merely incompetent, back and forth at each other.

"Nah. This is actually kind of fun now that the getting shot at part is over."

I looked up at him in amazement. "Tim Sullivan. You're an... administrator."

His eyes widened as he affected horror. "Shh! Anyone finds out I'm finally becoming responsible, I'll be drowning in paperwork before I have an office big enough to put it all in."

"Sully-- you will never have an office big enough to put it all in," I told him. "Why the hell do you think we're working in here instead of my office? I've got all my regular unit shit in there and it's breeding like rabbits. You put this audit stuff in there and I'll die in an avalanche of file folders like those brothers in New York who died when all those papers they collected in their house-- the Collyer brothers? Something like that."

He snickered. "With great responsibility comes great paperwork."

"Something like that, Spidey."

He just snickered again and tossed a wad of post-its at my head, but I'd already seen it coming, so I just batted it out of the way while I continued to read. Which of course just set him off, chucking stuff at me while I kept looking at the files, seeing if he could get something past me or if I'd actually have to turn and look at him in order to stop whatever increasingly heavier object he tossed at me next. I was debating, since he'd pretty much tossed most of the office supplies on his side of the conference room table at me already, but he seemed to be searching for something, so I figured the time had come. I listened for a second, then without looking, let fly.

"Jesus, Booth! What the hell was that? You didn't even _look_ at me before you chucked it at me, you freaky bastard!"

"Hackey-sack, Sully. You think I just play with it because I've got nothing better to do with my time? Now... toss that sucker back over here, and remember it's got your name on it from here on out."

"Fine..." he said sulkily, tossing it in the most sissy underhand throw I've ever seen in my life, before bursting into guffaws. "Jackass."

"Jerkface."

It's nice to have people you can count on.

* * *

"So-- everything is all set for New Year's?" I asked Angela.

"Sweetie, absolutely. It's going to be a blast."

"And do Jenkins' house elves need help getting all the sheets and towels in the laundry so everyone can stay over?"

"No-- all taken care of already."

"Are you ever going to tell me who the house elves are?"

"Nope. I'm sworn to keep the secrets of Hodgie-Warts."

I couldn't help it, Booth. That was so bad... I had to throw a clementine at her head. She was not happy with me, but that's just about the most tortured pun I've ever heard, except for Squint-posium. Or maybe Men-dearments. It's so hard to choose.

* * *

I was still setting up the bar with Jenkins when everyone started arriving for New Years' Eve. Thankfully, Sidney had already agreed to take care of the food, so Jenkins and I were able to concentrate on champagne concoctions of various types and setting out other beverages. You and Jack had just finished hanging up the decorations and putting the ladders away when Cam and Sully arrived through the doorway, having followed the neon painted arrows we'd had Parker put up earlier, leading the way to where we'd set up the party.

"Oh... wow. This is so cool..." Sully breathed. Cam just looked up, a wide smile on her face, then twirled around, her arms outstretched as she took in the lights and the rest of the decorations.

"Disco bowling," she breathed. "I _love_ disco bowling." As she continued to twirl, the spangled lights from the half-dozen disco balls you'd hung, and the reflections from the theatrical lights Jenkins rigged earlier cast a rainbow of white and colored lights all over the walls and the floor.

Just then, Parker bounded in from the butler's pantry, charging across the open area at the back of the lanes. "Doctor Cam! Mister Sully! Bones and Daddy are going to let me stay up as late as I can!"

Sully picked Parker up immediately and twirled Parker up onto his shoulders, complaining about how "enormous and fat like your Daddy you are, you put on a hundred pounds since I've seen you" and that he was "totally breaking my back, Parker," which Parker thought was hilarious. Cam just smirked, then made her way over to where Jenkins and I were still setting out drinks.

"Disco bowling, Sid's chinese food, champagne cocktails, and a totally sugar high six year old? It's a perfect evening." Her sarcasm was belied by her indulgent smile at Sully started playing airplane with Parker. Three months ago, she'd have winced at the way Parker does yell rather loudly when you toss him high in the air.

Jenkins rolled his eyes. "Trust me. We gave him an extra serving of cake after supper just to make sure he crashes good and hard."

Cam snorted. "So... I see we have an array of champagnes so expensive that Jack could have just bought the lab a new CT scanner, what else have we got?"

I finished pouring over the rest of the mixers into the Waterford carafes and decanters, and set out the tumblers and champagne flutes. I'd hesitated, but Jack insisted. "_I have more Waterford than the Waterford museum. If a few carafes get broken while we disco bowl, then it's still better use than they've been put to_."

"Pick your poison, Cam," I said, settling onto my bartending stool. "Old fashioned? Sidecar? Rye on the rocks?"

"Yes, in that order, but I'll take them all now." she said, a merry glint in her eye. Booth-- our friends? Complete lushes. I'm just glad it's Jack's bar bill this time.

* * *

We'd told people to feel free to arrive anytime after eight thirty, but everyone arrived in full force by nine, which was excellent, because between the guys all giving him pony and airplane rides, and the Medico-Legal ladies and Amelia picking Parks up to dance with him, Parker was out like a light by ten-thirty and we could tuck him into the room across from the hall. I kept score for everyone as they bowled and tended bar occasionally with Jenkins and Sid, trading off so they could bowl a few frames or dance with Caroline and Jeanne to Abba or the Village People as the moment moved them. Sully and Clark, Jack, Lance, Jenkins and Sidney all claimed me for dances requiring me to do nothing more than hold on and follow along, and I was so happy that I hardly got dizzy. Despite the mass of champagne, the delicious grease of Sid's food kept anyone from becoming anything more than tipsy, and there was good-natured squabbling over who was the best bowler and who was the best dancer until I declared everyone tied at quarter to midnight.

"Temperance," you chided. "Where's your competitive nature?"

"I've decided to leave it aside for ten minutes and concentrate on good tidings to all," I said, grinning, then turned to help pour out enough champagne for everyone to toast with.

You and Sully handed the flutes out as everyone stood or took seats on the sofas and chairs at the back of the room, and the mood grew not quite solemn, but anticipatory.

Raising my glass, I said, "Here's to family and fortitude. You are all of you, family, and Booth and I couldn't have gotten this far without your unwavering friendship. Here's to a happier, healthier year."

Everyone raised their glass and repeated your family's toast, _Phoenix from Ashes_, and drank. And then the clock struck midnight, and everyone gathered their loved ones into kisses and hugs. "Giant contagious love machine, Mr. Brennan," I murmured, as you stood behind me and started kissing my neck.

"Come on, Mrs. Booth, I'll take you upstairs and show you _my_ giant love machine," you said, turning me toward you and kissing me until I was a puddle of goo.

There were whoops and catcalls as we parted for air, and then more when you picked me up and yelled "get to work, kiddies," over your shoulder.

An hour later, I purred. "I do like your giant love machine, Booth."

You burst out in laughter and we started all over again.


	75. Chapter 75

Bones, the audience was utterly rapt. Even before this whole miserable incredible wonderful horrible thing all started, you'd put a lot more mushy-gushy parts in the latest Kathy & Andy, and your publisher had begun hyping the book earlier in the month, since it was supposed to come out at the start of March. (Explain to me again why the hell they pimp a book for two months before it comes out, Bones?) As you read the segue from the last case in the book to one of their little tete-a-tetes the two of them have afterward and either end up making love or screwing up against the wall depending on how worked up they are, the audience was literally hanging on the edge of their seats. This was what, the fourth book now? And you'd been building up this whole will they/won't they admit that they love each other rather than pretend like it's just casual sex thing, and this was that scene where you let the K/A shippers get what they've been dying for so long.

I stood against the wall at the side of the little stage they'd set up at the front of the room (Two hundred adults- only tickets at a hundred dollars a pop plus a chance to schmooze with you afterward, Bones? Yeah, I'd say it was worth it the icky celebrity thing.) and watched as the attendees of this little fundraiser sat on the edge of their seats as you read. I've got to say—you were always good at your readings, but reading Parker all those Paddingtons and Hardy Boys with me has given you a bit more of a dramatic flair.

You paused, sitting back a bit on your stool, the final galley of your book on your lap, then bent forward to the mic again.

"_Kathy wasn't sure how the argument turned from their usual disagreement about the dark turns passion can take, and whether love as a positive passion can become corrupted—she, as usual, maintaining the rational position that any emotion exists along an inevitable spectrum ranging from positive to negative, and Andy arguing as always that when two people are honest and fair with each other, the darker passions of jealousy and murder have no place to take hold. _

_Suddenly, she found herself pinned to her wall, Andy's body hard against hers and his eyes glinting with anger and more. "Don't you get it, Kathy? It's only when people don't say what they're feeling, pretend that everything's just swimming along that they get into trouble. If you suppress what you think and feel all the time, one of these days it's going to burst out and it's not going to be pretty."_

_Kathy felt her blood rise. "That's why I'm saying that it's better to not get too attached in the first place! If things are friendly but undemanding, then in the event of an inevitable parting, it's possible for both to recover from the disappointment of it not working out."_

_Something shifted in Andy's rugged face, and he seized her almost roughly by the chin, his eyes boring into hers. "Disappointment, huh?" _

_With his free hand, he reached between them to unzip his pants, tugging them down and freeing his long, hard erection, then tugged her skirt up and pushed her panties aside. He leaned in and crushed her lips under his until she was breathless, eyes glazed. Letting go of her face, he boosted her up on the wall, sheathing himself in her heat in one astonishing stroke. _

_Even as Andy grunted as he came to the end of her walls, Kathy cried out at the shock of it-- every time they joined, that first stroke sent a jolt through her body like she'd felt with no other man. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him, grabbing his shoulders and holding on as he withdrew and slammed back into her. _

"_Tell me you'd just be disappointed if we stopped doing this," Andy demanded, his voice rough with tension and anger."_

The audience got more worked up as you brought them through one of your characteristically long smut-sessions, the two of them screwing against pretty much every surface in the house before they end up on her living room floor while Andy taunts her with all the things she would only be "disappointed" about.

"_Admit it" Andy demanded, his voice strained and body coated with sweat as his weight slammed into hers. "You'd hate it if we stopped this. You'd miss me every damned day. You want me to nag you to eat and make you stop working so goddamned hard. You want me to fuck you until you forget your own name. You want my shirts in your hamper and your goddamned sexy thongs in my underwear drawer. Admit it. You love me." _

_Even as her body was wracked by the sensations only Andy awoke in her, Kathy gritted her teeth against the admission he was demanding— she'd never needed anyone, never wanted to need anyone. But she admitted she needed Andy to herself-- and was terrified that if she said it out loud, what they had right now would evaporate, like every other good thing she'd ever thought that she'd had—until it went sour, or they left her, or life's demands made it impossible to keep on. She cried out as he returned to her even more firmly, his arms slipping under her and holding her close until their foreheads rested together. He panted into her face as she stared back at him, unable to hold back another whimper when he filled her again. Her body instinctively shifted to take him in deeper even as she fought against saying aloud the words that would ruin things._

_She closed her eyes, arching under his weight at one masterful stroke, her cry this time a combination of anger, tension, and fear as she clawed him. Andy's head dipped next to her ear as she writhed, and he spoke in deep, gasping breaths as he thrust into her relentlessly. "Don't you get it? I'm not some asshole who's going to fuck you and leave you. I'm in it for the long haul, Katharine, no matter how hard you try to get rid of me, so you might as well accept the fact that I love you no matter what and admit that you love me too. I don't want anyone else, you stubborn, infuriating, goddamned incredible woman."_

_His words loosed something in her she thought she'd packed tight and hidden away in the depths of her soul-- years ago, the first time some bastard she loved left her for some bimbo who didn't have a mind of her own-- and she jerked as if lightning had struck her. Her cry this time was of pure need and fear, and Andy grabbed both sides of her face, growling "I love you, goddamnit," before kissing her so deeply she felt herself start to hyperventilate. _

_Andy picked up the pace then, lowering himself again to speak in her ear. Every speeding thrust was accompanied by an "I love you," or an "I need you," or an "I'm not going anywhere," until he reached between them and plucked her sensitive nub. _

_Kathy screamed, losing herself in his onslaught and his own explosion within her—she registered dimly that she was sobbing "I love you" aloud over and over as wave after wave of overwhelming sensation crashed through her. She came back to herself as Andy cradled her face in his hands and kept peppering kisses across her tear-stained cheeks and her forehead, murmuring "Shh, baby, don't cry," as he gave one last pulse within her, the scent of their passion hanging heavy around them. _

_Her eyes weighted by the fatigue of their passionate lovemaking and her own tears, she blinked hard to look back at Andy as she drew in a calming breath. He looked down at her, his face showing concern as they both panted. "You okay?" he asked gruffly, then pressed a kiss at the end of her nose, a tender gesture not at all in contradiction with who he was._

_She nodded, finally feeling as if she'd regained some composure. "Not disappointed at all."_

_Andy threw his head back and laughed, then kissed her deeply before they started all over again."_

There were whoops and hollers and claps from the audience as you sat back with a smile, that same dirty smirk I just _know_ you get when you call me at work and tell me what you're doing to yourself in your office with the door shut and the blinds down. Do you have any idea how long it takes to stop being hard after you talk dirty to me? I've been late to far too many of my department meetings since we got together, that's all. Minx.

* * *

David Keogh and you were sitting at one end of the room where the post-reading schmoozing shindig was happening, yakking with people as they came over to gush about the book and press you for details about the rest of it, since you'd hinted after all the hooting and hollering died down that "Everything won't be clear sailing" for Kathy and Andy just because they'd admitted how they felt about each other. I mean, if they didn't, then you'd be done with the series, right, and you've got what, two more books under contract? You've got to throw in some trials and tribulations and angsty bits before you wind it all up at the end. Although I'm a sucker for a happy ending, I mean, Kathy and Andy could do all sorts of crazy international consulting stuff, too, right? (I shall take that into consideration.)

You were smiling and demurring, giving them the same answer Karen told us both to give when we had that videoconference with her last week—"Further excerpts will be available online in two weeks" on one of those fan boards your publisher actually monitors so that it's not all crazies chiming in. It was good that they let you read this particular scene—you're right, publicizing that you'd be reading the answer to the will they/won't they question definitely made the thing sell out.

It seemed to be mostly normal fans—there were a couple of really gushy but harmless fan girls and fan boys (lord knew where they got the money for the tickets)—but there were some ACS people and a bunch of other folks who'd been given tickets to attend. Henry and Delia both bought a block of tickets and handed them out to some of their patients. "It will give Temperance the opportunity to not be completely overwhelmed by fans," Delia'd said, "and perhaps remind people what we're raising money for."

I was trying not to hover, since Delia and Henry and David Keogh were all around too to keep an eye on how you were doing, and in any event you had someplace comfy to perch. Enough of your female fans were obsessed with whether or not I was Andy that I was pretty busy trying to nicely beat them off with a stick, especially the one who got handsy until you shot her that "_Hands off my husband or I will pull your guts out through your nose_" EDG from across the room. Good one, Bones—she slunk off to the bathroom and I haven't seen her since.

Carol extricated herself from her Mom and Jimmy and came over, a smile on her face and Andy on her hip. It was a nice break from the ogling middle-aged women in your fandom.

"Hey, little man," I said, taking Andy and tossing him up a bit while Carol smacked me.

"I just fed him. If he barfs on you, Seeley, it's all on you."

"Literally," I said, shooting her a grin as she took a step away while I bounced Andy a bit more. "How's your Dad doing?" I asked, glancing over to where the two of you now seemed to be talking more seriously with someone who looked familiar from Delia's office.

"He's good," she said. "Second month of remission so far, and he seems to be picking up a bit. We were lucky Dr. Thornton had room for him in the medical trial he was enrolled in. He never would have gotten that much care back at home."

He did look well—thin, but good color—and certainly a bit more spry than when we'd run into him at Delia's office right before Thanksgiving.

"Delia's a good egg," I said, bouncing Andy again. "By the way, I'm stealing Andy, I just want you to know in advance that's where he is," I said, giving her the "_You're totally going to go on vacation after you guys finish the house and let us take Andy, aren't you_" Charm Smile. He took that moment to giggle and swat me as I settled him in the crook of my arm and damn, Bones, he's such a cute kid. So glad his rickets thing is all settled.

Carol laughed. "Well, I know where you live and where all the hiding places Max is putting in will be, so perhaps you'd better plan on moving if you're going to run off with him."

I laughed in response before we talked a bit more about the renovations—she figures we'll be all set by Valentine's Day at the latest, at which point maybe we'll have finished horsetrading over which geegaws and whirligigs are staying, and which are going back to the Museum or into storage. Thank God neither one of us cares too much about paint chips and carpets and stuff like that—no, it's all my Championship Pucks and your Roman Death Masks and how many Mummies and how many hockey sticks.

Angela's been happy as a clam ever since we basically gave her carte blanche with the décor – I mean, yeah, she's got to make sure she lets us choose from her top three picks for everything, but still—how often is someone going to let her start from scratch with a whole house? Poor Jack says he thinks Ange's going to leave him for the home decorating design center salesman—either that or the woman at the site where they're having their wedding.

But anyway-- with the economy in the crapper, Carol's had her pick of tradesmen and laborers aside from your Dad, and she runs a tight ship so things have moved quickly. She said they've picked up a few jobs on the basis of our exterior renovation, so it's all good—she has a bit of a haul from home, yeah, but the market's better up here, so she can charge a hell of a lot more. Whatever keeps Andy in Pampers.

"Have you decided on whether you're doing wall-to-wall carpets yet?" Carol asked, laughing as Andy whacked me in the face with his fist after sucking on it a bit. Mmmm. Baby spit. He's getting so big and strong.

"No wall-to-wall carpets. Bones knows some Kilim rug weaver from Pakistan from some dig she was on who's going to take care of us. I was thinking maybe something plusher for some of the more open rooms, keep it a little warmer, but Bones is a big fan of the hardwood."

Carol took Andy back as he whacked me again with his spitty hand and then headbutted me in the chest, looking for milk where there just wasn't going to be any. "Time to feed him again. He just ate a half hour ago. I don't know what's gotten into him." She settled him on her hip and he immediately nuzzled her, prompting her to laugh at him. "He's trying for milk from dry cows, Seeley. I'd better get him a bottle. Before you order any Persians, though, you should check with the dealer about the radiant subfloor heating—some of the plush weave carpets shrink with the heat coming up from underneath—you need a good quality Persian with a solid liner to prevent any shrinkage."

I must have looked flummoxed, and she tipped her head. "Temperance insisted on radiant heating under all the floors, a few days after we formalized most of the plans. She didn't tell you?"

I looked over to where you were talking away with a couple of women who looked fairly ill, some of them sporting headscarves, clearly having a more serious Cancer Talk.

"No—she didn't mention it."

Carol smiled. "Well, it's not inexpensive, but all the clients I've worked with who've gotten it installed love it—one of them calls it "_Toasty Toes Flooring_.'"

"That'll be nice," I said, looking over at you again. She then filled me in on a few other improvements you'd ordered, none of which I'd known about until then, and laughed when I just shrugged my shoulders and said "Bones always surprises me."

Andy took the moment to squawk his insistence that he was hungry right NOW, so Carol laughed and said "I'd better get him fed before he sets up a caterwaul. Talk to you later, Seeley."

"Bye, Carol, thanks," I said, bemusedly—right until I was accosted by an older lady named Charlotte who wanted to show me this afghan she was knitting with motifs from Bred in the Bone. She was a little batty, but I liked her. She had an interesting plot idea for a book where Kathy and Andy are on an international flight and have to solve the murder before the plane lands, with all sorts of help from the passengers—kind of an in-air MacGyver thing. What do you think, Bones? (It sounds rather contrived-- I don't know. It sounds more like something for a television show, not a book.) (Picky.) (Who's the best-selling author here, husband—oh, right, that would be me.) (Heh. You said husband. Although you probably only said it to make me shut up. But still. Heh.)

* * *

"That was less taxing than I thought it would be," I commented after you helped me into your ridiculous muscle car after the valet brought the car around. (Yeah, and I think they took it for a ride, I swear there's an extra twelve miles on this thing. Everybody's a bastard, Bones. Well, except you—and Parker. And the squints. And Sully and our little crew at the Bureau. But everyone else? Bastards.)

"Yeah, well, three hours, one for the reading and questions, two for the schmoozing? It's still a lot," you said once you got in on your side of the car and we pulled out of the lot. You rolled your head on your neck as we waited to pull out into traffic. "I mean, I didn't talk to a third as many people as you did, you sure you're okay?"

I looked over and you were wearing your "_I didn't see Bones eat three gallons of food right in front of me so she must be on the brink of collapse_" expression as you waited for a gap in the cars, so I decided I'd better head you off at the pass.

"A fair number of the people with whom I spoke were actually users of the online boards, so we were talking more about things we'd already discussed, or just exchanging more personal information. That wasn't problematic at all," I commented, wondering at how it was easier than I thought it would be. I've stayed away from these in-person support groups—but already "_knowing_" these people from online made it less uncomfortable to speak with them in person, though it's still odd to put a face with the online handle. I was quite pleased, too, that I was not so tired as I thought I might be—though the two hour nap mid-afternoon certainly helped. But mostly, the fans were respectful.

"And Delia and Henry were near-overbearing with the amount of food they kept insisting on bringing over for David and I to eat. I had several each of the goat cheese and tomato crostini and some of the chicken satay skewers."

"Well, that's good," you said, nodding to yourself. "Those skewers were good." Of course. I heard one of the waitresses say you made her leave a whole tray with you. (What? I was hungry!)

"Any more female fans attempt to molest you?" I asked. I ran into that handsy woman in the bathroom and spoke with her further. I don't think she'll be touching anyone, much less anyone who belongs to her, for a while. (Bones, you're so hot when you get all jealous.)

You snorted. "Not unless you count the senior center fan club there at the end."

"Ah, yes, the woman with the afghan. She actually did quite a nice job with the patellae on the blocking she showed me. Although she needed to decrease the number of stitches on the fibula."

"You know how to knit?" You looked incredulous.

"Of course I know how to knit. Not as well as Dube and his wife, but there's not a lot to do at night in Outer Mongolia or Kurdistan or El Salvador, Booth. It passes the time while you're learning tribal stories around the campfire, and when you're digging in cold places you do tend to generate many soggy wool items. It's easier if you can knit a replacement."

Now you were looking at me suspiciously, eyes narrowed. "Okay. So. Cooking, knitting, martial arts and bullwhips, survivalist camping, fencing, bow and staff, handguns and rifle, bestselling author and horseback riding. Anything else besides the seventeen languages thing?"

"It's only fourteen languages, Booth. And spinning and weaving, though the latter two are only serviceable."

"Well. Good to know that in a pinch you can weave me up a shirt—you know, in case we run across a loom and some washed fleece in our travels. But still-- what else have you got up your sleeve? Prima ballerina? Architect school one summer when you were bored? A pro bowling career you've kept on the down low because you're ashamed it was only candlepin?"

I snorted. "Candlepin bowling is far superior, and not only because the balls are small enough for even Parker to participate."

"So … you're not denying the ballerina and architect things there, Bones."

I thought for a moment. Really, when you don't watch television, you travel more and pick up lots of hobbies and skills. I couldn't think of them all at the moment, however, except for one.

"I am quite adept on the high wire."

You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief as you grinned at me. "Right. And I threw knives in the circus one when I went undercover. Tell me another one, Bones."

What? I am quite proficient on the high wire. I wrote a paper one summer and … you know what? Never mind. It does sound rather outlandish.

* * *

When we reached home we could see Jack and Angela still had the lights on in the sunroom, so we made our way in. Jack was paging through some squint journals on the couch while Angela had paint chips and fabric swatches and wood samples all over the floor.

"Sweeties!" she said, jumping up. "How was the fundraiser?"

I smiled. "It was fine, everyone was quite thrilled with the revelation of the encounter between Kathy and Andy, and I got to meet a number of people with whom I have corresponded online."

You nodded. "No one was creepy or too pushy and Carol and her family were there and they brought Andy."

Angela trilled. Do you know, I gave her my credit card to buy things for Andy in that short time we had him and she spent almost five hundred dollars on clothing? Almost every single item had a bear on it, too. I didn't think it was possible for so many items of infants' clothing to feature the same ursine motif, but apparently not—although knowing Angela, she could have just picked the theme and then shopped out every store within driving distance. In any regard, I suppose it was better than her purchasing him clothing with more overt masculine themes such as construction and emergency equipment and other paraphernalia come to be associated with gendered clothing for children. At least bears are potentially gender neutral, and the bears on the clothes she bought Andy were brown, unlike that travesty of a purple elephant.

"How is Andy?" she asked, her face lighting up.

You got that same goofy grin you get anytime you are within twenty yards of an infant as you said "Fine. He's getting so big, and he was really packing a wallop when I was holding him." That set Angela off, and the two of you started discussing Angela's plans for "_eight million children_" and debating whether girl or boy infants were easier to deal with as Jack rolled his eyes.

"I keep thinking she's joking when she tacks on the '_million_' descriptor," Jack said with a smile. "But I'm not so sure, because at first it was two million, then it was four, and now it's eight. She was having WAY too much fun with the kids here," he mock-grumbled. "I'm never going to get any work done if we start having all those babies she keeps talking about."

"Stop it, Jack Hodgins," I retorted. "You are more than half the reason Booth and I had to drag Parker out of the game room kicking and screaming after you and Jenkins put Mr. Stripey back. Rebecca still hasn't forgiven us for the fact that she'll never be able to top that camping safari."

Jack got a gleam in his eye. "I was thinking of maybe going through the attic to see if I don't have a complete lizard collection so that we could do a class-by-class animal review for the science club. I think Great-Grandfather Abner brought back a Komodo dragon." With that, he scrambled off the couch, dropped a peck on my cheek as he passed me from where I leant in the doorway, and strode off to the head of the stairs leading down to the kitchen and Jenkins' apartments. Leaning through the doorway and yelling, Jack called out.

"Jenkins! Did Grandpa Abbie bring home a Komodo dragon, or just a Galapagos tortoise?" he shouted, as you and Angela looked on in amusement.

There was a long pause, and then a different response than what Jack was expecting. "Cherie, you interrupt us again and I'll show you a dragon. You children just stay right where you are!" came Caroline Julian's voice.

Jack jumped back from the doorway like he'd been bitten. "Sorry, Caroline!" he called, then walked back toward us. There was no further response as Jack shook his head, returning to us.

"I'll show you a dragon," you murmured, your eyes twinkling. "Gotta love it, Jack."

Angela snorted. "Gotta love it, or we'll never find anything ever again. Jenkins would redecorate the house just out of spite."

Jack shook his head again. "I don't know. He might even have an extra dimension around here someplace, and would move the actual rooms around, too. I wouldn't put it past him. It would explain how he got Miss Ellie down here. The freight elevator's only big enough for Mr. One-Horn."

I do love that Parker's names for the taxidermied fauna have taken, Seeley. (Hey. The kid's got a knack with nicknames. He gets it from his old man.) (While it's water over the bridge by now, I still maintain that Bones is far from an original nickname.) (Under the bridge, Bones, under the bridge. And I thought Bones was clever.) (Of course you did.) (Well, I've evolved since then, okay?) (So … what would you call me now if you had to come up with a new nickname?) (Wife. Because you're my wife. Hah.) ( ). (Don't roll your eyes at me like that, Wife.) ( ). (Punk.)

* * *

We spent a few more minutes speaking with Angela and Jack until Angela shooed us away. "You kids go to sleep, it's late, and you'll have Mass in the morning. I am going to play more with paintchips while Hodgie reads me scintillating excepts about mica."

Jack protested. "There are many different colors of mica Angie, and this survey happens to discuss the mid-Atlantic ones. It's totally relevant to our work—totally."

Angie looked up at him with a quirk of her mouth. "You're spending too much time with Sweets there, Hodgie."

"Totally," you murmured, with a glint in your eye. "C'mon Bones, let's leave the kids to their paint chips and rock chips."

"They're minerals," grumbled Jack. "You ought to know that by now, man."

"I'll call them minerals when you learn the difference between Glock and a Beretta," you returned with a snort.

"Fine," Jack replied. "Maybe I will. Jerkface."

"Butthead," you said with a fond smile.

I tugged on your arm. "Unless you and Jack are going to make out now, I really could use a bathroom."

You snaked your arm around your waist and squeezed me—causing me to whuff a little. "Booth. I said I have to go to the bathroom. Not so much with the squeezing, okay?"

"How much champagne did you drink?" you asked, lending me your arm as we headed off to the stairs.

"Nearly enough," I replied with a smile.

"So, a lot."

"Basically. But not as much as your mother would."

"Well, that's a relief. I mean, how embarrassing would that have been? Guest of honor gets thrown out of her own fundraising for bankrupting hotel over champagne consumption. News at 11."

I just snorted.

* * *

I'd finished my nighttime preparations for bed and came out of the bathroom only to find myself scooped up as soon as I opened the door. Three short steps to the bed and you'd placed me in the middle, eyes dark with some ardent emotion as you kissed me so forcefully I was gasping and trembling when you were done.

"Wow," I mumbled, then gasped again as you fervidly placed hard sucking kisses over my face, then brought your attentions to my breasts. As you stroked your hot solid length over my rapidly moistening cleft, your hands under me kneaded and caressed my scalp, the base of my neck and shoulders-- stroking my back with your hands where your mouth sealed to me in the front. You sucked at my navel, your hands kneading my rear, then shifted, but instead of tasting my core with your mouth, your hands made their way to my now-slick center as you turned to kiss, suck and bite your way down my legs. Your fingers first entered me as you set a slow rhythm then sucked at the sensitive hollow of my knee—the part that makes my clitoris throb in time with each stroke of your tongue.

"Booth," I moaned, as you sucked harder, your hand maintaining its pace as your thumb started to rub lightly over my clitoris. You made your way to my ankle, lifted my leg from the bed, and started biting and sucking your way over the arch.

"Ah, Booth!" I cried out as you started sucking my toes, your fingers and thumb in my heat slow and inexorable. A jolt of heat shot through my core each time you changed the level of suction, and I was soon writhing helplessly against your hand in my center. You shifted again, and paid the same torturously pleasurable attentions to my other foot, sucking me harder as your hand started to move faster inside me in time.

I was moaning as you sucked at the hollow below my tibia, then nipped it lightly with your teeth—my hips bucked more firming into you as you sucked and bit more firmly at the hollow of my other knee. I was wordless except for "please," short cries and groans torn from me with each jolt of incredible need building in me. I could barely keep my eyes open, I was so overwhelmed, so just-short-of-release that my whole body thrummed with tension. It was only a relief in that it was a new source of tension when you withdrew your hand from my core only to lie down and feast on my.

I thrashed—I rolled—I moaned and begged and lost my voice from the force of my cries as your mouth invaded me, your hands gripping and kneading my behind—the wash of different sensations made it impossible to hold on to any sense of myself.

I couldn't describe how I climaxed—just that I was so tense, so full of need, so painfully aching for you, and then wasn't, because I was lying beneath you, your hard body covering mine as you pressed still-fervid kisses over my brow, murmuring "so good to me baby" and "I'll always take care of you" in my ear as I trembled in the aftermath. As I came back more to myself I felt your hard length filling and twitching within me, your legs straddling mine as I found enough of myself to clasp the back of your neck and look at you, dazed.

"Love you so much," you said, then kissed me until I saw stars and was panting again. Your hands captured mine, our fingers twining together as you levered yourself back and began to thrust into my heat, slowly but utterly filling me with tension filled strokes as your shaft slid through my shuttered legs and over my needy, hard clitoris.

I arched as I could—I tried to thrust in return under your weight—I cried out in need and completion and love each time you filled me—was lost again to your body and heat against mine, surrounding and shielding me from the rest of the world. I must have called your name, told you l loved you, but I was so awash each time we came home together that I can't remember—just heat suffusing every inch of me until I was a tingling mass of sensation.

"Temperance," you rasped in my ear, your strokes becoming less measured. "Tell me you know that I love you," you demanded.

"I do," I managed to gasp.

"That you know I'll always take care of you," you said, your voice even more husky.

"I do," I said, trying to concentrate on looking at you and the fervent, solemn expression you were wearing.

"You love me more than anyone else does," you continued, a less-controlled, harder thrust bringing you to me.

"Oh! I do! Seeley!" I cried, as you fell hard inside me.

"You take care of me better than anyone else does," you groaned, your eyes boring into mine with determined devotion.

"I try…" I gasped, but you fell hard inside me again and the rest of my thought was lost to a spike of even more forceful need. I cried aloud wordlessly, and you picked up the pace, rasping "You do, you always do," before groaning as your expression shifted, a rictus of tension.

For the second time, my release was something I utterly lost myself to, a screaming "I love you" the last thing I registered until I came back to myself, limp and sated, your own length shivering its last pulses inside me. And then I was lying flat on my back, your arms encircling me and one leg looped over me possessively, the covers already pulled up, when I could stop panting enough to open my eyes and look at you. Tenderly, you placed a kiss on my temple and pulled me closer to you, my eyes closing again in your encompassing heat.

You kissed my temple again. "Thanks for the radiant heat under the floor boards, Temperance," you said huskily—"and the heated towel racks in the bathrooms and the enormous plasma TV. But mostly the floor."

"Mmm." I mumbled. Carol must have told you about my additional requests when you two were talking. "Toasty feet for my Seeley," I murmured, as you kissed my temple again.

"So good to me, baby," you whispered.

"Love you—want t' make sure you know just in case," was the last thing I remembered responding.


	76. Chapter 76

"You're more tired than I'd like you to be," Delia said as she finished my weekly checkup. "Why?"

"Court," I said shortly. "We've had a trial all week, it's probably going to go two more days into next week. It's a forensics-intensive trial and I had a long expert voir dire before they even got started."

"Hmm," she said, helping me down off the table and handing my clothes to me. "That explains your changing cast of sherpas."

I snorted. My father and Sully had been bringing me to and from therapy, since you and the rest of the team were occupied with the trial all day and I'd been excused from attendance in the afternoons-- not that defense counsel put up any kind of fight about it since his colleague from our last trial had his license suspended. I'd skipped the disciplinary proceedings the first week of the month, though you and Caroline both went and the presiding judge actually testified for the Bar Overseers-- but we had new prehistoric remains at the lab that I wanted to show Anne and needed to verify before the trial started or another case arose that might require me to be more directly involved.

"Well-- Booth's got to be there the whole time if I'm going to be up to date in case the defendant's attorney tries something tricky and one of us has to go back as part of the rebuttal, and Jack's been on the stand in the afternoons after my testimony."

"At least the judge made accommodations," she said, her hand on my back balancing me as I stepped back into my shoes.

I must have grimaced because she cocked an eyebrow at me. "What?" she continued.

"It's not good for the case to have the expert testimony all chopped up into pieces," I said. "The jury forgets some of it and maybe they feel like you're getting special privileges and it can affect their sympathy level for the defendant."

"I find it hard to believe that a jury would think you were getting special privileges," Delia said acidly. "You're still sixteen pounds underweight, though yes," she said, holding up a hand to forestall my protest, "it's great that you're eating more. But I can't really up your steroids much more-- you're already on so many, and I'm worried that any more will give you ulcers, which will hardly help with keeping your food down."

I nodded-- it was something we'd discussed before, and there still wasn't much to be done, though at least she'd agreed that I was still fit enough that she wasn't going to stick me with a G-tube. There were three more weeks to this course before I'd be tested again, and I was just hoping for small things-- not throwing up too often, staying less dizzy than I'd been just a few weeks ago, making my away around once I was standing or using a stool under my own steam, and sleeping no more than sixteen hours a day.

"My patients all reported having a great time at the fundraiser," she said then, twigging to the fact that I wasn't into discussing what we couldn't do much about. "And the local chapter people were over the moon about how much money they raised."

I snorted. "Nothing like announcing there will be a preview of the smuttiest scene in the whole book to sell out the hall," I commented, smiling despite myself.

Delia laughed in response. "Yes, but it's good smut, Temperance. There's a difference. Poorly-written smut is worse than no smut at all. But your smut, well...." She got a twinkle in her eye.

"Glad Henry liked it," I cracked.

She snorted, gave me a slight push out the door of her office once I'd done settling my jewelry, and said "Just remember, if you need someone to test drive the mechanics of a scene after you've written it..."

Sully just turned red when he met me halfway down the hall and I told him what I was laughing so hard about.

* * *

"So you think that you're almost done with all the reviews? That was fast," I replied, as Sully described the last bit of progress he and the other reliables still at the Bureau made this week during the trial.

He nodded, looking relieved. "There were some real incompetents to be fired, which is embarrassing, and a few people who were dirty for other reasons, which is even moreso, but in the end, there was only one more person in Evidence, a low-level clerk, whose bank account was inexplicably large. But the departments are going to be thoroughly overhauled, and Orrin Macy's still got about a hundred more low-level people to audit for financial irregularities. But it's mostly done-- Booth and Sam and Mel and the Director and I already worked out a schematic for the reorganization, and the Director and the rest of the department heads are meeting at some retreat this weekend to make final decisions about how it's all going to work. A bunch of people are going to get shuffled around-- we're going to try to do more cross training so there's more flow between units, and Sam's insisting that random audits get instituted permanently."

"Good," I replied, shifting the journal I'd been reading out of my lap. "What's the likelihood that it will be a blip on the budgetary radar?"

He shook his head, looking thoughtful. "It's hard to say. The warehouse raid and the shootout at your place made it into the press, though we managed to squash some of the coverage citing the ongoing investigation, but we'll have to close it out next week, which means the press might come sniffing around again. If the hearings start on time, we might make it through without too much clamor that the spending get cut-- since of course, less funding is the way to make sure there's enough oversight to prevent corruption."

We chatted a bit more about the internal politics and some of the other issues the two of you had been dealing with, then gossiped about some of the things at the lab and a few people at the Bureau that I'd met over the years. He was waxing paternal about how endearing he found Parker at New Year's, so I decided I'd better warn him.

"Sully, admittedly you know Cam better than I do these days, but she and I had a few conversations at one point about her lack of interest in children. I wouldn't want you to be disappointed if you've decided you want some."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know. She's kind of back and forth about it these days. Her sister just got pregnant, and she won't say so, but I think she's feeling a little left out from all the family females' bonding over the nieces and nephews. And she actually admitted Parker is cute."

I snorted. "He knows it, too. He's shameless, just like his father. You should have heard him at Christmas, nagging me to let him eat all the cookie dough scraps."

Sully smiled in response, starting to say something when his phone rang. He looked at it, said "Crap, Rodgers," then answered. "Where ... how long ago? ... and the locals said what? ... okay ... well, I'm kind of tied up but ..."

I interrupted him. "Call Clark and go. I'll get Delia to give me a ride, okay?"

He nodded and went back to his call. "Okay, fine. Can you call Dr. Edison and ask him to meet me at the scene with whatever he needs?" He listened, then nodded as he said "Thanks."

Standing, he picked up his things. "Sorry, Tempe. I'll stick my head in her office on my way out, okay?"

"Fine," I said, smiling. "Don't worry about it. Have fun."

He snorted. "I'm surrounded by people who think dead bodies are fun."

I stuck out my tongue. "You're the one who keeps sleeping with us death-obsessed women. I'd say it's your problem, not ours."

"That I do," he said, dropping a kiss on my forehead. "See you later. Don't do anything crazy."

"Right," I replied, waving my needle clad arm. "I was thinking of maybe doing some cartwheels in here while I wait."

* * *

I'd gotten Sully's text, and then yours that Delia was taking you home. I suppose it was inevitable that one of your sherpas would be called away, but I still didn't like you not having someone able to literally carry you if need be around just in case. I know I'm being ridiculously overprotective, and I'm really glad you haven't whacked me too hard for it, but still, I get nervous. Fortunately, Delia decided the two of you needed dinner at Sid's-- all well and good since I was starving and Sid's always sounds good. When I caught up with you, the two of you and Henry were holding it down in the Booth-Brennan booth at the back, laughing about something squinty given the tail end of the conversation I walked in on. "And then she said that osteoblasts were irrelevant!" Henry crowed, you two ladies laughing your butts off.

"Sorry to break up the squint comedy convention," I said, plunking down next to you. "What's up, Docs?"

Henry just rolled his eyes at me, Delia too. Bones, you've got to stop teaching our friends all your hot little mannerisms. You're the only one who's supposed to give me that eyeroll. It just feels ... hinky when someone else does it.

* * *

When we got home, "Six" was propped on the wall next to the bureaus, and we both sat with a thump on the bed, you harder than I. You were trying to push through it, but this week had you exhausted.

"Shit..." was about all I could manage.

"Oh my," was your initial response. "Did I ... do I really look like that?" Your questions were half whispered.

I took the whole thing in before nodding. "Yeah."

While the painting only portrayed the final scene of the whole scary affair, Angela somehow managed to capture every shootout, every frustrating brick wall and dead end in the investigation, every scary interaction, every panicked chase and mad dash to prevent further disaster-- from the start of finding Jamie Kenton's bullet hole in that skull right through the point at which we left the house to come take up temporary residence here.

The painting itself seemed deceptively simple-- Parker curled up in your lap in the truck and me standing behind you as I waited for Sam to confirm we were clear and before I'd told Jack we'd follow him home. But-- every roiling emotion bit of terror, anger, frustration, dread and exhaustion literally swirled in the air-- large slathered circles of paint, variants of black, brown, red and ochre surrounding the three central figures, the same as before from "Three" when we were at the hospital-- except this time instead of just being quietly protective, you literally radiated fury-- Fury, actually, one of the ancient Greek avenging women determined to tear betrayers limb from limb. Which you did, just with bullets. Parker and I were just shadows, in contrast. It was taller than it was wide, and the way she'd painted it, our figures were almost exaggeratedly elongated-- the central impression was like a candle flame, when it's drawn tall and flickering in strong breezes-- light buffeted by darkness, I suppose.

Angela hadn't really done a painting since things started getting notably worse with this Romano disaster, or since you'd gotten much sicker-- and though the ones from the house were in storage, I see the one in our offices pretty frequently. The contrast-- well, Angela captured the truth, the one I've been trying to avoid accepting despite the visual proof in front of my eyes.

"I'm half the size and twice the brightness in this one," you said, your voice trembling. "I have a carbon steel sword in my dining room from the French Revolution. It's beautiful, and the sheen on it when it's polished is incredible. But ... it's been honed too many times. I wouldn't dare use it-- it's sharp and can cut, but it would break if I applied any real pressure at all."

I swallowed. "I remember it," was about all I could manage.

You let out a long exhalation, almost a whine, but said nothing for a long moment until you swallowed and said, voice half-strangled, "Will you put that someplace I can't see it for now, please?"

I got up and hefted it down, debating-- then carried it out of the room and across the hall, placing it gently on the floor, the front facing the wall.

When I came back in, your were still sitting in the same spot, not quite shaking, but close. I kicked off my shoes and sat back down next to you, then pulled you over. "Shh. Just three more weeks to go before we find out. Don't think about more... just the next three weeks."

You nodded from where you'd laid your head on my shoulder. "I know." You didn't sound like you did-- neither did I. I pulled you into my lap anyway, trying to comfort you as much as myself.

"Just three weeks," I repeated. "You can do it." I hoped so. I hoped saying it aloud made it true-- hoped more than anything in my life.

Maybe we'll look at it later, when the truth isn't so close. I'm not angry that she painted it-- it's true, after all. And there's never a comfortable time for things that are true-- but seeing it briefly is about all I can handle before I need to get back to the one day at a time thing.

* * *

You finished your fourth morning of testimony the next day, one full day from Caroline, one full day of cross from defense counsel, and I could tell when you got down from the stand that he hadn't scored any points and that the jury seemed to be hung on what you'd testified to. Cam finished her testimony, the last of the squints' that afternoon while you were off at therapy with Sweets, and then it was time for the defendants' case.

I'd gone down to get us some breakfast that morning while you took a shower-- Jack and Ange were sitting at the island having cereal.

I said good morning, pulled some things out for the both of us along with some coffee in one of Jack's handy carafes, and stuck it all on a tray. Ange looked afraid. "Is she ... you're not ..."

I shook my head. "She's upset ... but not at you. The truth hurts sometimes, that's all."

She swallowed and nodded, her eyes glinting, Jack looking on solemnly. He'd have to be solemn-- Ange wasn't there for that final encounter, so he was the one who told her what everything looked like-- what you and Parker looked like.

"It's okay, really," I said, then dropped a peck on the top of her head. "We're going to go straight to court, we'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Seeley," she said, still concerned. "I'm sorry." She meant a lot more things than the painting.

"I know, Angela," I replied, meaning a lot more things than the painting, as well.

* * *

The defendant's case was pretty short. He didn't testify but he did call his alibi witness, and then his expert-- Michael Stires, that weasel. He was on in the afternoon, and Delia let you do therapy that morning-- not optimal, since you're always tired after a session. But Stires didn't have too much to say-- he hadn't been there for your testimony and must have read the transcripts instead-- he came across pretty weakly when he testified. Especially when he noticed you were sitting there, watching and waiting to get up to rebut him if Caroline thought we would have to. After he finished, faltering three times when defense counsel asserted your findings were faulty before stating that he would have drawn different conclusions, there was a break.

"Children," said Caroline. "I don't think we need to do any rebuttal. I'm going to do my motions and then I'm sure we'll do closings. If you want to stick around, then feel free, but don't feel like you need to at this point."

You nodded as I waited for you to say what you wanted. "I think I'd like to go home."

Stires was standing out in the hallway as we left, your hand tucked under my arm and your feet dragging with tiredness. He came over to say hello, a shamed look on his face as he said "Tempe..." then drifted off.

You gave him a wan smile, said "Take care, Michael," and kept walking.

I don't know if you heard his wistful "you too."

* * *

"That's the last case we have without a confession, right?" you asked, letting me carry you back to the room from the top of the stairs.

"Right."

"Good," you sighed.

We made it back to the room, and you flopped back onto the bed with a longer sigh as you kicked your shoes off-- then pushed off the floor to curl on your side on the bed.

"You want something for supper?" You shook your head no, and I should have pressed, but I could tell that even if I brought you something, you'd have maybe eaten three bites before giving up.

"Okay. You want something to read? Or a bath?"

You shook your head no again, then rolled up a bit to look at me. "I just want to lie down for a bit. Will you ..."

I curled up behind you and pulled you into my arms. "Always, baby."

* * *

Caroline got her verdict that same day-- such a relief to have our track record intact. I did a few hours at the lab on the platform before going to sleep in my office until my father came, and then it was Friday and I didn't have any treatment at all. Clark was doing fine on the murder-- he'd asked me to confirm a few findings, but he and Sully and Jack had things well in hand and by the time I woke up from my nap right before lunchtime, they'd identified the murderer and Clark and Sully went off to the Hoover to confront him.

Angela had been tiptoeing around me all week, afraid still about "Six," so at lunchtime I bellowed for her to come over. She had a slight smile on her face as she came in while I sat up on the couch, dragging my blankets up with me.

"You bellowed, my love?"

I snorted. "Stop avoiding me and go get us something from Sid's, will you?"

She hipped to like nobody's business. (Hopped to, Bones.) (Whatever.)

* * *

You slogged through the weekend, though you sent Parks and me off Sunday afternoon after Mass, staying instead in the sunroom reading journals while Jenkins pottered around and agreed to keep bringing you tea.

You had some Renaissance dude from some dig in Florence on Monday and Tuesday, and you and Anne and Clark geeked out over something about scurvy again-- you and your scurvy-bowed bones.

Sweets took you Monday, Jack took you Tuesday-- you slept through most of your sessions both days. Sully and I finished everything up that we could contribute to the Romano disaster Tuesday afternoon. I went to work Wednesday morning, then came to get you at lunch.

When I came in, you smiled from where you were ensconced on the couch, still looking pooped, then set your stuff aside as you swung your legs out and stood. "Love you baby," I said, pulling you in for a hug. Even a few hours without touching or seeing you is too hard sometimes-- always has been.

"You too," you said, letting me shrug you into your coat before turning and tiptoeing up for a kiss.

We made it halfway across the floor of the lab, your hand tucked under my arm, before your knees buckled and you fainted on me.


	77. Chapter 77

**_Many, many thanks to doctorsuez for her medical research and assistance as well as her editing. Thanks, too, to Labyrinth01 and a few others who've PM'd me with ideas/requests. Hopefully you'll see some of those ideas reflected in here._**

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* * *

  
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I woke up to find myself back on the couch in my office, curled on my side with my head in your lap. "Did I pass out?" I asked.

Your hand in my hair stilled for a moment as your breath hitched before answering me. "Yes-- how do you feel?"

"Okay-- just a little fuzzy, I guess." I pushed myself up to sitting, your hand fluttering at my back as if you were both afraid to help and afraid to let go. I conducted an internal inventory as I sat with my eyes closed for a moment, then turned to look at you.

"Just a little fuzzy," I repeated, wishing there was something I could do to relieve that frightened look in your eyes, even as I was sure it was reflected in mine. I struggled to think of something else to say, my mind moving slowly as Angela reentered the room.

"Booth, sweetie," she said quietly, "the ambulance should be here in a few minutes." Coming around the sofa, she saw then that I was up, and immediately sat down beside me. "Bren," was all she said, gripping one hand in my own, as your arm at my waist pulled me flush to your side.

"I don't need an ambulance," I said, the protest automatic.

"Bren..."

"Bones..."

You both spoke at the same time, and I steeled myself for a fight. "I don't need an ambulance. I'll go to the doctor's, but I don't need an ambulance."

Cam entered the room then and came around the couch to sit in the chair opposite me as she said "Good, you're up."

I tried to reason with Cam-- she was a medical doctor. "I don't need an ambulance, Cam-- it was most likely delayed onset syncope from having been sitting down for so long."

"You're most likely right, Brennan," she said gravely. "But Delia would kill me if I didn't insist that the EMTs check you out here and that you go with them to the hospital-- you know there are other things it could be. It's not fair to Seeley to ask him to deal with it alone-- if you're fine on the way over in the ambulance then you'll only have cost your health insurer an ambulance ride they'll have a hard time arguing with."

It was a low blow, bringing you into it when I was sure it was nothing more than syncope and exhaustion-- but it was impossible to argue with, especially since you seemed to agree. "Fine," I sighed. Both you and Angela squeezed me in response, so I gave Cam as close to a smile as I could muster.

"Sorry to have interrupted the flow of the lab," I offered.

Cam shrugged. "You keep me in practice-- it's not too often I get to work with live bodies." Despite her attempt to be light, she looked tired and worried-- I'm embarrassed it took me until then to realize what a burden it must be to her to worry about my falling apart on her in the lab when she had other responsibilities to contend with.

Jack made his way in, all pretense of anyone getting any work done apparently set aside for the while, and sat down in the chair Cam left empty. "Double-B," he said, "you're a drama queen. If I didn't remember that I'd complained to you just this morning about having nothing to do once this case broke, I'd accuse you of having done that for no good reason whatsoever."

Thank goodness for Jack. "Well, Jack, I try to oblige. I can't have you being bored, you'd just dream up a new government conspiracy to investigate."

He snorted and managed a half smile. "Well, you'll go get checked out, and by the time you get back, Cam and I will have dug up something interesting for you to work on and you'll just find a way to get me involved, now that your scurvy bones are all done." Cam mustered a smile in response, but it quickly disappeared from her face.

"I'll do that," I said, then lost the rest of my thought as the EMTs came in. Cam excused herself, and Jack and Angela moved away from the couch, keeping out of the way while the EMTs took my vitals and you and I took turns with my far-too-complicated medical history. When I'd finished, the one checking me out said "You're most likely right about the syncope and exhaustion being the immediate cause, but there are other possible reasons you should have checked out. Your husband can ride with us."

You nodded at me without saying anything, eyes dark and serious, determined and sad.

"Okay, let's go," I said, giving in. "But I'm getting up on the stretcher myself."

At least I managed that much.

* * *

The E.R. attending confirmed the EMT's tentative diagnosis after drawing some labs, then went off to call Delia. About fifteen minutes later, Henry walked in, shrugging his whites on as you sat on the edge of the gurney, twisting my rings again. "Delia's in surgery and won't be done until five," he offered. "She'd kill me if I let any old attending admit you and start the initial orders."

I shook my head. "Is this really necessary?" I asked, then stayed still as he used the fundoscope to check my eyes.

"Yes. You're too thin, your blood pressure's too low, your iron and white counts are as low as they've ever been-- you're exhausted," he said flatly, looking down at his watch as he took my pulse again. When he looked up, he had a clown's smile on his face. "Think of it as an opportunity to observe firsthand the social rituals of doctors and nurses and the evolving roles of care providers and their relative heirarchies from the increasing role of technology."

"Bones," you added, "just ... please?"

I mustered a clown's smile of my own as I responded to Henry. "You just want to distract me from the fact that you still haven't managed to get double-wide hospital beds or more comfortable johnnies."

He nodded, still smiling that smile we all knew was false. "I'll make sure the purchasing agent stops by your room so you can give him what-for."

* * *

A short hour later, I was ensconced in a private corner room at the end of the cancer ward, we'd signed all the admission paperwork, and I'd gotten hooked up to sugar and Ringer's drips and the blood pressure cuff and the pulse oximeter, though it was that damned central line for the IVs. I hate those, it limits my movement more than an arm or wrist placement. It's funny-- or not funny at all-- I'd either been in the general ward or the ICU and step-down units before this point. The head nurse came around to introduce herself, accompanied by Maureen, who fussed at her and started giving instructions about my history and all the things that I'd need in such a mother-hen tone that the poor woman couldn't find it in her to argue, though I'm sure she's perfectly competent. Not long after they left, Jeanne stopped by in her street clothes.

"No, I'm not on shift, cherie," she said as I started to open my mouth, "but a little Henry-bird told me you'd come in for a visit, so I decided I'd stop by and ask whether you had any special requests for Sidney before I head over there to get you two some supper."

I felt my eyebrows rise in surprise, even as yours did. "I figured they'd have me on some horrible hospital food that was both bland and fatty," I said.

She shook her head. "No-- you just need to put on weight, chickadee, and bland hospital food's not going to do that if you can't bear to eat it. I've worked with Nutrition before, I've got a fair sense of what kind of calories you're going to need, and Henry's having the dietitian email Sidney the specific requirements. And Sidney keeps a clean kitchen-- the health inspector eats there all the time."

I thought for a moment, but couldn't think of anything I particularly wanted. "Whatever he feels like cooking, Jeanne," I said. "I can't think of anything I especially want right now."

You shook your head too, your arm around me as you sat next to me on the bed. "Me neither, whatever Sid wants," you replied.

She picked up my chart, clucked over a few of the findings from this most recent admission, then patted my foot under the blanket. "Be back in a bit, chickadees. Seeley, you keep our good doctor in bed if you have to sit on her. She can't burn any more calories than a good laugh or a trip to the bathroom, okay?"

You nodded solemnly. "Yes, ma'am. I know better than to argue with a Julian."

She gave a half smile, then gave me the "_You stay put, you hear me_?" EDG.

I could feel myself shrink. "Yes, Jeanne." I too know not to argue with a Julian.

* * *

Jeanne reappeared with dinner for five, the reason apparent as Henry, then Delia still in her scrubs, filtered in. Delia dragged in more chairs and a coffee table from the small lounge across the hall, then shut the door and sat down with a sigh.

"You," she said, pointing at me, "are a professional challenge, and you are going to stay put in this hospital until I get fourteen of your missing twenty one pounds back on you. You lost another two pounds since I saw last week, you know-- and you've lost almost seventeen percent of your weight since this whole thing began. Every time something stressful happens, you just lose weight all over again, and you never put it back on as fast as it comes off. You're too tired to keep on top of your intake, and too damned stubborn to limit your exercise as much as possible. I should have put you on bed rest or put in a G-tube before Christmas-- you're not going anywhere, Temperance."

Jeanne and Henry nodded, agreeing, their stern miens nowhere near as serious as yours. I thought about protesting, since there are several bedrooms on the same level as the kitchen, and I could just move in there so that I minimized the amount of exercise I had during the course of the day, but your implacable look made me decide not to argue. Delia must have seen some of those thoughts pass in my expression, and she paused while she handed out food from the bag Jeanne set down when she came in.

"No," she said firmly. "Don't even think about suggesting that you could do this at the House of a Thousand Rooms. You'd get up and start cooking yourself something or sit at the counter in the kitchen reading or walk down to Jenkins' room to chat if you tried to stay in one of those downstairs apartments, all activities which involve burning more than minimal calories."

"I wasn't going to," I answered, telling the truth. You were too worried and I was too tired to fight about this, though I intensely disliked the fact that I was too tired to fight about something. I prefer to be contrary. "But you'd better make sure I get Wi-Fi in here, or I'll go mad with boredom. I can't possibly watch all those Lifetime movies Seeley's addicted to."

You rubbed my back. "Bones is just mad because they're on at the same time as all those metal band Behind the Music specials."

"You're the one with all those Bon Jovi CDs at the house," I retorted, trying to keep it light while we ate.

I opened my container and inhaled the aroma, accepting the plastic utensils Jeanne brought. You shifted, setting your own container out on the table you'd pulled over the bed, then peered curiously at my chicken, bacon and prunes with its shallot, cream, armagnac sauce and buttered egg noodles. Fortunately, Sid hadn't made a full serving, and I was pretty sure I could finish it. "Eyes on your own food, Booth," I ordered. "Eat your pot roast."

Henry nodded, having apparently been given the same thing as you. "It's really good, Seeley."

"Of course it is. It's my mom's recipe. Even Sid starts with a recipe...."

Delia finished a bite of what looked like pad thai, then said "You never said how you two met, you and Sid."

You and Jeanne exchanged a quick look. I suppose they're serious if she knows the story. You only said "No, Delia, I didn't," before setting back to your pot roast. We five ate, trading stories about hospital gossip and Henry and Delia's wedding plans-- at the close of the meal, Jeanne gathered everyone's plates over my protest that we weren't here for her to wait on.

"Cherie," she said, giving me a quelling look. "I am not waiting on you. I am checking to see if you ate everything, to bully you into finishing whatever is left, and to report back to Sidney that you ate all the food he made you. You're a professional challenge to his menu selection and cooking skills when you can't finish something he's cooked. That's not waiting on, that's bossing around."

"Yes, Jeanne," I said meekly.

"Don't you '_yes, Jeanne_,' me," she chided. "You just sit here and get fat again and come up with more dessert recipes to make Sidney money hand over fist."

The rest of you stood and finished clearing things, carrying them out into the hall and rearranging the furniture Delia hauled in. "Might as well leave it in here," Delia said, coming back in to check the readings on the stupid machines while you and Henry and Jeanne went out to plot in the hall. "It'll be Grand Central Station in here with all your admirers regardless-- you might as well have someplace for everyone to sit."

I wasn't in the mood to say anything, so I didn't, just closed my eyes and concentrated on listening to whatever it was you three were talking about in the hall while she took my temperature and scratched something down in my chart until the thermometer beeped. I opened my eyes and watched as she checked it.

"Temperature's normal."

"Jack and Angela's wedding is on Valentine's Day," I said evenly.

"So, you'll go to the wedding rehearsal and dinner, come back here for a midnight snack and sleep, then go to the wedding, standing only as much as I tell Seeley to let you, eating some fatty dish I have Sid send over, and going to the reception for a few hours. You can dance once with Seeley and once each with Jenkins and Jack. No problem," she said, meeting my eye. "But I'm suspending the chemo for a week while we see how you're doing."

I nodded around the lump in my throat, then discussed what the other potential treatments would be. I knew all too well that she couldn't continue it so long as I was so underweight that the weight alone would leave me susceptible to further illness, much less with the immunosuppressive effects of the drugs, but I'd been so close to being done with this course and finding out what happened next. The fact that she was suspending it meant she'd not only have to resume the time that I'd missed, but extend the overall time to account for any growth that might of occurred.

"You told me before Christmas it wasn't time," she said. "I'm holding you to that-- you're going to have gained enough weight back to dance all night at our wedding on the last weekend of March."

"I'll put it in my calendar."

"You do that."

* * *

As soon as Delia left, I picked up the phone, then watched as you started to plot with her, too.

"Hi, Rebecca, it's Temperance," I said when she answered.

"Hi there," she replied. "He's been itching the last five minutes. I was giving him until 7:07 before I let him call you."

"Sorry. I got sidetracked," I sighed. "I passed out at the lab and Delia's decided I'm on the no exercise, all fat and carbohydrate diet at the hospital for a bit."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said instantly. I could hear Parker piping "Is that Bones?" in the background, so I said "I'll call you at work or have Booth call, one or the other."

"Take it easy, okay? He's attached to you." Before I could respond, Parker came on the phone.

"Bones! You're late!" he said, sounding concerned.

"Sorry, Parker," I said, taking a breath. "I had to come to the hospital today and I just finished with Dr. Thornton right now. So tell me what's up with you today, hmm?"

"When are you going home?" he asked, ignoring my question.

"I have to eat a lot more than I've been eating," I replied, thinking about how much to tell him. "So a week, maybe some more."

"Can I come see you?"

"Of course," I replied. "Someone has to share my pudding. I'm making your dad get his own."

"It's a deal," he said with alacrity. "I'll come see you tomorrow."

"You ask your mom for permission, okay? She can call Booth and make arrangements if it's alright." I didn't want him trying to boss Rebecca around simpley because I was going to be under lockdown for the foreseeable future.

He agreed and we talked about what he'd done at school and a field trip that was coming up, then hung up with a "I'll ask Mom, but I'll see you tomorrow, okay, Bones?"

"Sounds good, pal."

* * *

I'd slept for a bit while you went off to the house to pick up some things. I'd tried to convince you that you could go home for the night and come back first thing tomorrow, but you'd resolutely shaken your head. I woke perhaps a half hour before you returned, and desultorily flipped through the television channels before deciding I'd do better paging through a truly abysmal celebrity magazine the nurse brought me.

"Brangelina, hunh, Bones?" you asked, coming back in so laden with bags that you looked like a pack mule. (Thanks, Bones.) (A handsome pack mule.) (Better.)

"She does seem to be quite the humanitarian with her UNHCR work, and her dedication to the idea of adoption is laudable, but I can't help but think that there are plenty of American children requiring adoption as well."

"True," you said, unloading things onto the table and chairs.

"So much stuff," I commented.

"Most of it's books," you retorted. "Be nice. I practically plotzed hauling all this stuff up from the car. Those books weigh a ton."

"I don't know what that means."

You half smiled as you unzipped a bag and started piling books on the side table. "It's Yiddish, like schmooze. It means falling over with tiredness." You stilled, but the words were already out of your mouth.

"Well," I said, "yes." Changing the subject, I asked "Though how you picked up all that Yiddish..."

"My first partner at the Manhattan bureau was from Brooklyn-- you learn a lot of Yiddish that way." you said, your back to me as you unpacked what looked like a week's worth of your clothes. Settling in for the long haul, it seems.

* * *

I half-woke a few times in the night when the nurses came in to check the machines, which meant you woke up too, since your arm and leg were slung over me so thoroughly that anytime I shifted, you grumbled and pulled me yet again closer to you. At some point, however, you got up and it registered dimly that you were dressing someone down out in the hall. Shifting, I woke, accidentally jerking the central line as I moved too quickly, and unsuccessfully suppressing a yelp of surprise at the sharp tug of the needle.

"What is it?" you said, instantly by the side of my bed. You must have been up for a bit-- you were already in different clothes from yesterday. I hate sleeping this much.

"Just tugged my IV," I said, swatting you away. "I'm fine. Go finish upbraiding whomever you were talking to." Honestly-- if I need help, I'll call you. I can deal with a stupid IV without assistance.

You bit your tongue about something and returned to the hall, then went off toward the nurse's station. I pulled myself up to sitting, waited long enough to assure myself that there would be no repeat of yesterday's episode, pulled off the pulse oximeter and blood pressure cuff, and headed into the bathroom with my things and my stupid medical accessories to take a shower. Not even three minutes later, you'd stuck your head in the bathroom, a deep worried "Bones?" interrupting my shower.

"No, Booth, it's Katherine Hepburn. Who else would it be?" If my voice was an acid, it would have been hydrochloric right then.

"You shouldn't get out of bed unaccompanied," said your voice through the shower curtain.

Maddening man. I whipped back the shower curtain to glare at you. "I am _here_ at your request and your request _only_, to minimize exercise and maximize calorie intake-- not be spoon fed and sponge bathed. The next thing I know you'll be telling me I should let a nurse wipe my ass because it will burn too many calories if I do it. Now give me at least three minutes alone to finish my shower before you get in here to order me around again."

I whipped the curtain shut again so I wouldn't have to see the hurt in your eyes, but I was angry, and I thought rightfully so. Yes-- that IV tug got me up on the wrong side of the bed, and the being woken every three hours for checks on machines they could damned well put on a monitor out at the nurse's station doesn't help, but I'm feeble, not dead. It's stressing me out, your watching my every damned movement, perpetually poised to catch me if I fall or to nag me about something you don't think I should be doing unaided. I passed out even when you were hanging on to me. It's all random, now. So -- knock it off-- I don't need to be stressed out on top of having absolutely no idea what's going to happen next.

* * *

You were on the phone out in the hallway when I came back into the room and settled back on the bed, put back on all the stupid monitors, and started brushing my hair. I was about halfway done when you came back in, looking sheepish and more.

"Here," I said, extending the hairbrush to you. Taking it, you sat down behind me and started pulling it through my hair, the echo of how it had been the last time we were here and you needed to feel like you could do something. I need to feel like I can do something too, alright?

* * *

Sid came by with breakfast, a cheese and spinach filled omelet and more bacon than I thought I could comfortably eat, as well as some hash and fried eggs for you, but didn't stay other than to say "hey," and joke that if I put enough weight on quickly, I could help him lock up the hospital outside catering business.

"I'll do what I can, Sid," I said around a mouthful of omelet. "Although how you'll manage it when there's only you and your three pals back in the kitchen, I don't know."

He smiled that enigmatic smile he has and said "Hey. I just tell them what to cook and make sure they add enough salt. It's all about the salt, in the end."

I don't think it's quite that simple, but he's right, enough salt is always important.

* * *

Angela came by at lunch, bearing more bags of food as well as a briefcase I hoped held some paper consults. "The Wong Fu's brigade has arrived," I said, patting the arm at my waist holding me while you slept as you sat behind me. "Booth," I said again, and you jerked before waking. "Booth, Angela's here."

Angela unloaded everything onto the table before me, pulling her own chair over and handing out chopsticks. "Everybody gets spicy beef and pork belly yaki soba," she said with a smile. "But Bren gets a pineapple sorbet with cashew cookies for dessert and Booth and I just get Bren's toffee pudding."

You smiled as you shifted from behind me to sit forward and take a carton. "As if Bones' pudding is ever "_just_" pudding."

Angela did have some purely paper-based consults for me, and briefly described them for me as you stifled the urge to protest my doing any work whatsoever. At least you stifled the urge. Sitting and reading and typing on my computer will not consume any more calories than watching TV, and it's a chance to do some more good.

You got a call as the three of us were still avoiding the rhinoceros in the room (elephant, Bones), so you left Ange and me alone while you went out to the hall.

"You hate this," she said flatly, wringing her hands.

"I do," I said, sighing and sitting back a bit. I'd been up for four hours and was already tired.

"What did Delia say?" she asked, picking up cartons and shoving them all in the trash as she set out dessert.

"She's suspending the chemo until I can gain back some weight. She said my iron and white blood cell counts were dangerously low because of the chemo and that I couldn't safely undergo any more until I put back some cushion for my immune system."

She bit her lip as she sat on the side of the bed and took my hand. "Did they ... can they ... do you know if ...?"

I shook my head. "I ... they could do an MRI to see if there are still any hot spots, do a biopsy of the lymph masses to see if they're still malignant but ... they'd still want to finish the course after I'm stronger, and it would have to be extended because of the delay." I paused, swallowed. "I, Ange ... I'm ... afraid to tell Delia to do the tests. If ... if they say the hot spots are gone, or the cells come back benign ... it would be something. Everything. But Ange ..."

She squeezed my hand tightly, eyes welling. "I know, honey. You're so tired. It might be easier, not knowing one way or the other. At least you could just concentrate on what's right in front of you."

I nodded, closing my eyes. "Who'd have thought I'd ever _not_ want to know something?"

She shifted to sit closer, then pulled my head into my chest, stroking my hair with one hand. "Oh, Bren. I know. Honey, you've worked so hard at this, like you do everything. You just have to keep working at it in a way that makes sense. If that means just focusing on calories instead of cell counts, then do that."

My hand found its way to hers, my palms cold and sweaty. "I want to go to your Valentine's Day wedding and propose a highly untraditional and infuriatingly feminist toast, Ange," I said, my voice choked. "Maybe even sing some Tina Turner with you and Cam."

"You will, honey," she said. "Whether it's two weeks or two months from now, you will. I'm not getting married without you, Bren. You'll be there, I know it."

A choked sob escaped me. "I don't want you to postpone your wedding, you've waited so long."

"Shh, Bren," she said, rocking me with my head still clasped to her chest. "If we postpone it twice, then the third time's a charm. I promise."

I let her make the promise and just held on to her-- or let her hold on to me. Either way-- it kept me staying put for the moment.

* * *

"Dr. Bones," came Parker's voice as his weight settled up on the bed next to me. "Bones?"

"Mmmph. Hey Parker," I said, turning carefully toward him to avoid tugging that damned line of mine while I woke. "Hey, little man," I continued, cracking an eye. Yet again, he was right in Bones-space, maybe three inches away from my face.

Shifting, I sat up a bit, then patted my lap. "C'mere, pal. What's up today, hunh?" He settled in gingerly, then wrapped his arms round my waist before settling his head against my chest. You looked askance when he first sat in my lap, so I tried to ignore it.

You and Jack settled down in your chairs to listen and take part in the conversation while Parker told me about his spelling quiz and shared my late afternoon snack of peanut butter and chocolate graham crackers with milk-- he has such a sweet tooth, it's a wonder he hasn't more cavities.

Eventually, as all children will, Parker needed the bathroom, so he crawled off the bed and hopped down to the floor agiley, trundling off to the bathroom. He's grown so much in the short time I've known him that he no longer has any problem with door handles or most adult sized-toilets, though as all children will, he does ignore his fingernails. I worked at the last part of my snack as he completed his business, but left him the rest of the milk as he crawled back up and sat next to me.

"Here you go, Parker," I said, extending the glass. "Milk's good for growing bones."

He shook his head solemnly. "You need to grow too, Bones. You drink it." It's hard to argue with that logic.

* * *

I woke in the middle of the night when the nurse came in to record more notes on the chart. I tried to stay still so you wouldn't wake, but whatever change in my breathing occurred made you mumble and turn to pull me under you further. I tried to stay still, and you seemed to sleep again, but I was awake, so I just stared up at the ceiling and told over the table of elements, hoping it would get me to sleep.

"Are you on Germanium, Arsenic, or Selenium," your gravelly voice rasped in my ear as I tried taking deep breaths.

"Selenium." I answered.

"What's next?"

"Bromine."

You shifted, scooting under me so that I was cradled against your side, my head on your chest and one hand at my waist as your other threaded its way through my hair, fingers gently massaging.

"Right. What's the one after that? Krypton?" Your soft voice rumbled under my ear.

"Mmm. Rubidium," I started, but you said "shhh, Strontium, Yttrium, Zirconium, just listen and breathe, okay?"

I nodded, grabbing hold of your t-shirt in one hand as I inhaled your scent. Closing my eyes, I focused on my own inhalations and the sound of your voice as you continued naming the elements for me, my once solitary sleepless nighttime endeavor now shared, ever since you'd asked me what sheep I was counting one night when I couldn't sleep and I told you I counted elements instead.

"Niobium, Molybdenum, Technetium, Ruthenium..."

* * *

I was still slogging my way through breakfast my third full day in the hospital when Delia came in, a long look on her face. You'd finished your breakfast at least fifteen minutes ago, even though you had three times as much food as me, and were sitting in the chair next to the bed, pretending to read the paper on my laptop rather than watching each mouthful I ate.

She shut the door, then sat down on the side of the bed.

"You're totally nauseous, aren't you?" she asked, looking at me as I held my spoon mid-way to my lips. I set it down into the bowl, shaking my head-- even Sid's savory grits with cheese, bacon and chives weren't appetizing.

"I am," I admitted, ruing how small my voice had become.

She sighed, rubbing her face in a gesture you also have, when you feel at the end of your rope.

"I got this morning's lab and nursing results back," she said. "Your iron count's still abysmal despite the supplements-- I have to give you some blood. And your ANC count is terrible, too--—you're neutropenic and you're at risk for a severe neutropenic infection, though right now your temperature's only mildly elevated. And ... you're down another half pound despite removing the chemo and amping the steroids as high as I can without ripping your stomach to shreds."

"You want to do the g-tube and a permanent catheter." Again. Where did my voice go? I never needed a microphone to give book readings or lectures. Now I can barely squeak.

Your hand gripped my arm tightly as Delia nodded. "I don't want the constant stream of admirers in and out of here, either. I know none of them have been sick, and they're all taking handwashing precautions but ... it's too much to have so many people here with so many possible exposures. Pick three people aside from Seeley-- and they've all got to wear masks. You, too, Seeley, at least if you leave the hospital and come back."

She just sat there, waiting for a response-- my consent, really. I knew there wasn't much alternative surgically-- but I wanted _time_.

"What about doing the MRIs or a biopsy before I decide?" I asked, the idea of permanent tubes in my body suddenly more frightening than finding out whether the treatment thus far had taken.

She shook her head, looking at both of us. "No. The hot spots may have died down, but you know that as long as there's one cancer cell anywhere, and one cell won't show up on MRI, then it starts all over again. It'll spread like wildfire while your immune system's down. I'd have to put you under general to do the biopsies anyway, given the number of nodes-- you can't honestly tell me it's reasonable to do a biopsy under general to see if there's cancer and _not_ put in the cath and the tube while you're under? I'm not going to do two general surgeries on you in your current condition. And you need the g-tube. Now. More like last week."

"I don't _care_ if it's reasonable. I want the biopsy first. You can do the transfusion too. That'll help if the biopsy comes back positive, make the second procedure more feasible." I was ignoring the fact that my voice shook-- ignoring, too, that I was being completely illogical.

"So if it's negative, you're going to just hold your breath and hope you gain weight without further intervention?" She was incredulous, and becoming angry. "Your immune system's shot, I have no idea why your veins haven't collapsed, and the first sniffle or flu that comes by you outside a sterile environment could kill you. Hell, you didn't beat Parker's cold for three weeks, and that was eight pounds ago."

I rubbed my forehead, a headache blooming instantly under the weight of both your regards. "Get out. Both of you. Now."

"Temperance ... "

"Bones ..."

"Out. Leave me alone for two hours. Both of you. It'll take you at least that long to contact a lawyer to have me declared incompetent so you can just skip the part where you bully me and talk down to me like I'm a child and go straight to ignoring my express wishes. Out. Now."

I stared at Delia, and seeing I meant it she slowly got up and went.

"Temperance," you said cautiously.

"You too. Out. Don't come back for two hours."

"Bones," you said, leaning in to hug me. I put my hand out to stop you, and your eyes shaded dark with distress.

"No. Out. Two hours. Now."

"Temperance, please."

"No. I didn't want to come here. I don't want to stay here. I want to go _home_. You have been breathing down my neck nonstop for the last four days, watching every single bite of food I take, practically timing me every time I get out of the bed to use the shower. I need some time to myself, and you've made it so I can't be the one who goes off for some me time outside of this room. I need to be alone, Seeley. Now."

"But Bones," you pled, your expression anguished.

"No! I'm getting less sleep here than I would at home or the lab, all these damned nurses coming and going. This bed isn't comfortable, the IV line hurts, the stupid blood pressure cuff makes it impossible for me to really fall asleep and then you wonder why my counts are off and I'm even more underweight? The hospital is not helping me, Booth! Now get out and leave me alone for two hours. I need to think."

"But you might need..." you began.

"Call button," I said, holding it up. "Also? A voice that has stood me in good stead for my whole life. I can call for help if I need it."

"Bones... I just want to..." you said. You were visibly shaking at the way I was throwing you out but ... I needed time to _myself_.

"Booth. I know. But ... it's _my_ body that's failing, not yours, and I've known my body longer than you have, no matter what you might think about how I treat it. Just ... leave me alone with myself for two hours." You stood there a long moment, debating what you could say to convince me otherwise. I just sat there, implacable.

"Two hours," you said, checking the time on your watch, and looking utterly stricken. As you turned and slowly walked out of the room, I sat back with my knees up to my chest and pressed my fingers over the bridge of my nose. I willed myself not to look at your retreating form, posture indicating how upset you were with my need to just have some time to myself. There isn't much self of me left-- I deserve some time alone with it, if only to have the conversation about the unfairness of my own body's betrayal in private.

* * *

I woke to the sound of you and Angela talking out in the hall, and the smell of Sid's food wafting in around lunchtime.

"Quit plotting," I called, "and bring me my lunch!"

Angela came in, tears in her eyes. "Hi, sweetie," she said shakily. You entered slowly behind her, looking lost and angry and afraid all at once. If you'd come back in after I'd fallen asleep about an hour and a half into my reverie, you hadn't sat back on the bed or taken my hand.

"Sit, disburse food, tell me what's up at the lab, Angela," I ordered. "And then I'll tell you all about the fashionable new face mask you'll be sporting hereafter, including when my g-tube goes in tomorrow. I'm sure you'll embellish yours stylishly, just like your lab coat."

She nodded, not even looking at you as she started taking out cartons. "Okay-- but I'm going to have to buy you a whole bunch of cute little one-pieces to replace all those bikinis you never wore anyway."

"Angela, you can buy me every swimsuit in the world. I will even let you make me get a pedicure."

"Ooh, honey, can I have her do little flowers and everything?"

"Only daisies. And not pink."

"Not pink," she said, leaning into the bag once again. "Here. Have some tortelloni in brown butter sage sauce. There's a spinach salad with blood oranges somewhere in here too. And more pudding for Booth."

"There's always pudding for Booth," I said, with as much of a smile as I could muster for you. "Come here," I then said, patting the side of the bed, and scooting over to leave room.

You didn't drop everything, but you did set it down quickly to come back over and slide your hand behind my shoulders. I patted your hand and set back to eating for all the good it would do me.

* * *

Again in the night the nurse's entry and exit woke me, which was as well as I was on my way to a nightmare and was feeling cold and sweaty as a result. I curled onto my side, pulled the covers up further, then felt you shift behind me and circle my waist with your arm until your body curled against mine, your body's heat beginning to suffuse me.

I sighed, knowing it would again be an hour or more until I'd fall asleep again-- and needing to. They'd be by early, maybe as early as 6 to start the anaesthesia.

"Bones, I didn't mean to ..." you began softly.

"I know. It's ... the cancer ... my body I'm mad at. But ... you press too close sometimes, Seeley, though I know why you do it. I know you're trying to take care, to be careful-- but it just hurts more because it reminds me. I ... I need to do what little I can for myself, okay?"

"Okay," you said, your voice rough in my ear.

"I know it might not ... ever be ... I just wish things were normal."

"I know," you said soothingly. "Hey... how about I tell you about this beach where the house we've rented for July is."

"I'd like that," I said, closing my eyes and snuggling into you further. The details didn't matter- it was the fact that it was your voice and you were talking about something we were going to do in the future that mattered. It was something I could hold onto more strongly than the platinum bands on my finger.


	78. Chapter 78

Many, many thanks to doctorsuez for her assistance with scientific and medical research, her proofreading skills, and her general support!

* * *

I hate general anaesthesia. Have I ever told you that? I feel like a dried-out, dizzy, nauseous husk for hours on end. No matter how much water I drink or how many crackers I eat. And the waking up part is always horrible-- this time I felt like I was trying to swim out of quicksand, and it kept pulling me under while I flailed against it. Not a metaphor I want to contemplate overmuch right now.

"Gah," was about the only word I could form, my mouth was so dry. Definitely going to invent a new anaesthesia when this is over.

"Hey to you, too," you said, your warm palm running up and down my arm. "Ice chips?"

"Mmm. Yes, please," I rasped. As always, maybe even more so than usual, my throat felt shredded from the ENT tube. I swear, they always wrap mine in sand paper. Gritty, for my displeasure. I cracked an eye, then the other, swiped the sleep from the corners, and watched as you shook some chips into a cup.

"Thanks," I rasped, taking it from you in an only slightly-shaking hand and tipping it back so the first chips could melt on my tongue. You sat back in the chair next to me, fiddling with my rings again.

"Delia said everything went really well, it only took them two hours to do everything, even the biopsies," you said, your expression nonetheless tense. I risked a glance and saw the tell-tale IV line snaking out at waist level from under the covers, then followed it to its bag on the IV pole to see that it was on a constant gravity drip. No night feedings only, I guess. I followed the other lines back to where they snaked down to the porta cath installed over my breast, at least three bags dripping into the lines and their junction at the needle.

"Wasted no time, eh?" I managed around the ice chips in my mouth.

You shook your head no. I squeezed your hand a bit, but didn't try moving too much. Everything feels heavy and leaden, and my joints often ache after GA. This time was no exception.

"Well, now I'm really not going anywhere," I said, unable to help myself as I regarded the tangle of IV lines on one side, and the blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter on my other.

"Temperance," you said, your voice raspy and eyes welling. You cleared your throat and kept speaking. "I ... I know how much you hate this, we all do-- but if it makes you stronger, helps you get better, and Henry and Delia say that it will, I ... you have to get better, Bones. I need you. We all do. You have to."

I squeezed your hand again, and ignored as best I could how feeble it felt. You once accused me of having a "beer-can-crushing-king-fu grip," but I hardly felt like it then. I kept silent though-- I didn't want to keep saying such bitter things, and I've never been good at biting my tongue, especially when I'm feeling lousy. Lousy. Hah. That's one way to describe it.

The requisite post-waking hour in the PACU passed slowly with strained conversation, nurses poking and prodding, and lots of bit lips, clasped hands and unshed tears on my part. The orderly came around at last with a nurse to get me transferred back to the room, and they sent you off before getting started.

The indignity of having other people moving your body around like you're a ragdoll, and of having to put up with it and be exposed to strangers while your most basic needs are being taken care of-- it's maybe the biggest thing people discuss on the boards, especially among those who are going to go terminal or into hospice. Of course, some of it's modesty. Some of it's embarrassment and shame at how depleted and ugly our bodies are. But most of it is about the loss of control. It's undignified, plain and simple, no matter how gentle, appropriate and competent your physical caretakers are. At least when you're an infant, you lack consciousness of your dependence and debility. When it's only once in a while, then as an adult you have time to recover your sense of self-- to do things for yourself that you normally would-- but when someone else is constantly handling you, doing to you the things you would normally do for yourself? It's not soothing or comforting no matter how good your caretakers are. It's just something to be forborne while you try to think of things to distract you, or things that make you happy. I therefore closed my eyes as we made the trip down the corridor to the elevator and thought about processing crime scenes while I uncovered remains and you bellowed at evidence techs. I hoped I'd fall asleep for a bit, and miss the actual part of being hooked back up to equipment in what would be my four walls until who knows how many pounds pumped back into me through that tube.

I know the medicine. I understand it. Unreasonably, irrationally, angrily, I still find it hard to believe that a tube that has nothing to do with my will to eat and make it stay down-- make it nourish me-- will do more than my own conscious efforts. I know-- a bad gut instinct about my own gut. Ironic, hmm?

* * *

I regained what equanimity I could by the time Angela brought around Parker that afternoon. He was curious about the G-tube, so I swallowed the lump in my throat and ignored the ice in my gut and explained how it and the porta cath worked as he traced their outlines gently with his small finger. He was fascinated, not grossed out at all, but the sight of them, and curious, too, about why he and Angela had to wear masks when you didn't.

"It's like covering your mouth when you sneeze. You don't always have a cold when you sneeze, right? But sometimes you do, or you're going to get one, so you try to be in the habit of not sneezing all over the place, which keeps you from spraying the germs all over. You and Angela have been around a lot more people with germs than me or your Dad, since your Dad's been here at the hospital with me. That's why he doesn't have to wear one."

He listened seriously as he sat next to me on the bed, then said "I can still hug you though, right?"

"Absolutely, pal. Hugs are some of the best medicine ever," I said. His frown of concentration smoothed and he stood up to hug me immediately.

* * *

When it came time for supper, Ange took Parker off to the cafeteria to eat the suppers Sid sent for them. "Enough salt." Hardly. A proper sense of seasoning doesn't explain his psychic powers about how many people are coming for dinner.

"What's in your soup?" you asked, picking at your Reuben and onion rings and ignoring your pudding for now, though sometimes you eat it first.

"Chicken and rice with scallions and ginger," I answered. Not many calories, I know, but the GA leaves me woozy for most of the day, so something light was about all I was good for.

We ate quickly, knowing Parker would be back soon and needed help with his homework-- a condition you and I had imposed with Rebecca's agreement if we were going to let him come to the hospital every day, as he insisted he wanted to. You tossed our containers and wiped everything down before settling onto my unplugged-in side and pulled me into your arms.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," you said, tucking me under your chin. "But this will be faster, and you'll get better quicker, and we can go home even sooner." I nodded, wanting for now to just concentrate on the warm strength of your arms. At least when you're here, part of home is here too.

* * *

I woke several times in the night to the nurse's entries and exits, feeling restless and tired and plagued by bad dreams. You gathered the latter.

"What's the matter, Bones?" you asked the third or fourth time I woke.

"Just bad dreams," I rasped around the desert in my throat.

"About what?" you asked, concerned. It had been a while since either of us had a bad dream either from a past memory or some unknown future horror-- most poor sleep for both of us resulted in between the start of a case and its close.

"I don't know. It's ... they're ... inchoate. Just dark and hot and murky and like I can't move."

You stroked the side of my face, scratched your fingers over my nape. "You want me to ask the nurse for something?"

I'd avoided taking sedatives. I hate them even more than anaesthesia for how dulled they make me feel. "I don't know," I replied, tired and still upset by the dreams. "I'd rather not."

You thought for a moment, then started to give me a neck rub. "Well, if you don't drop off in the next half hour, okay?"

"That's acceptable," I murmured, then let you press your talented fingers along my cervical vertebrae and over the occipital knob where my tension sometimes gathered, then just held me for a bit, cautious now of the new lines leading out of my body. I think there were about five minutes left on the alarm clock and you were on "Lithium" when I felt my eyes close.

* * *

There was a rustle of voices outside the closed door of the room, and when I pushed myself up on my elbows, I could see you conferring with Delia, the head nurse and Maureen. My breakfast and what looked like a shake sat on the bedside, the trash bearing what seemed to be your own takeout container.

As I maneuvered the bed controls back up to sitting, I wondered what the day would bring. I'd spoken to my father every day, but he'd said before I could even voice my concern that between seeing Hallie and Emma and his work on the house and at O'Reilly's that he'd be exposed to too many germs to be a safe visitor, masks and handwashing precautions to the side. Still, we'd left him as the third visitor I was allowed-- you were keeping your family and the folks at the Bureau up to date as Angela did for the lab and our little family, but there were still a lot of phone calls and emails to answer-- not that they aren't welcome, but it was a bit to keep up with, assuring everyone that I was doing alright, all things considered.

It had apparently made it around the gossip magazines that I was in the hospital, with some of them even speculating that I didn't have cancer at all and was just anorexic, since I hadn't lost my hair. While normally I don't condone giving any comment whatsoever to those mudsucking rags, the opportunity for Delia to educate the wider public about the various kinds of traditional and experimental drugs and their various side effects and the idiosyncratic responses by individual patients was too great, so we allowed her to issue a statement in conjunction with my editor Karen. You'd been incensed when the stories first ran, and Angela was practically ready to track down the magazine writers and "Stab them with my stilettos, Bren, so help me," but I suppose I was more sanguine. People who don't have first-hand knowledge about the near-infinite number of variables involved in treating the different types of cancers and the drug therapies involved tend to have a stereotypical view of the cancer patient as incessantly nauseous, balding and ill, when often enough some patients stay essentially healthy over the course of their treatment, and don't outwardly appear to have anything wrong with them. I'm happy to have public speculation over my vanity provide the excuse for a little education, as horrified as I was to have them accuse me of faking cancer of all things.

When I took up my milkshake, you caught a glimpse of the motion through the window and stuck your head in.

"Hey, Bones," you said gently.

"That's me," I said, clearing my throat. Delia and you came in as Maureen and the head nurse melted away.

"Seeley said you're not sleeping?" she asked, coming over after drawing the blinds.

"Not sleeping well," I clarified. "I'm sure it's just anaesthesia after-effects, just tired and achy like I always am," I continued, clearing my throat again and having a sip of my milkshake. Stupid ENT tube.

Delia nodded, then said "Seeley, I could use a coffee, lots of cream from the cafeteria, not the floor pot, that's terrible stuff. I need to check Temperance's sites and have a bit of a girl talk, okay?"

You said nothing but nonetheless left with ill grace, upset to have to be more than a few hundred feet away. After you'd shut the door I watched as she inspected and cleaned around the insertion points, checked all the lines for kinks and leaks and proper drip rates, then checked the catheter. She used the tympanic thermometer, huffed "Up half a degree," then said "could just be the not sleeping thing."

I nodded, agreeing. It happens sometimes.

"You want the Foley out, right?"

I agreed, then braced myself and gritted my teeth as she released the balloon and slid the line out. She checked the night chart, the biopsy sites, cleaned and redressed each incision-- all things a nurse could have done but that she took care of herself. I hesitate to ask why-- I've grown attached to her and think she has to us, but the departure from the usual care provider task protocols was still a little unsettling given what I'd been used to before this. She flipped the blankets back up, gave me a hint of a smile, and said "Be right back," before disappearing out into the hall. You'd come back to the room by that time, setting Delia's coffee aside as you sat back onto the bed and slid your arm behind my shoulders again.

Delia came back in then and ignored the coffee she'd sent you off to as she sat down looking shaky in the chair at the end of the bed. Before I could even wonder at the cause, much less gird myself for whatever her demeanor foretold, she said "The gross examination of the biopsies are clear. We should have the histology reports in an hour or two."

I let out half the deep breath I'd been holding ever since the last biopsies came back positive. I hadn't realized until then that I hadn't been drawing a full breath ever since. "He did a gross on each section?" My voice squeaked in terrified relief.

She nodded, sniffling even as you squeezed me so tightly that it surprised an "oof" from me.

"Oh, gosh ... Bones, sweetheart," you said, withdrawing your arm.

"No, I'm fine," I said, grabbing your hand. "You didn't hurt me," I assured you. You never could, Seeley.

We discussed what would happen when chemo resumed while I ate the rest of my breakfast, fresh fruit and fresh potato rolls with peanut butter, since of course Sid somehow knew I wouldn't be eating it right away. We made sure I knew how to clamp off my ports while I showered and changed, and that done, she took off with a hesitant pat on my shoulder.

"Scoot," I said, pushing at you. "I'm going to take a shower."

You stood aside, waiting as always to make sure I was steady, then folded me into a hug, your eyes as full of almost-there-we'll-know-for-sure-in-two-hours tears as mine, both our hearts hammering wildly. Pulling back, I offered a smile. "Got to clean up so I can plant a big kiss on the pathologist when he comes by with the good news."

You smiled brilliantly. "I won't even shoot him. Though I do hope it's Delia because if you planted one on her, well, as Angela would say, that would be _hot_."

I burst into laughter. "That's what, two male fantasies rolled into one? Girls, playing doctor?"

You smirked, then kissed me soundly. "You're the only doctor I want to play with."

* * *

Two hours and one minute later, Henry and Delia came in smiling enough to fill a cosmetic dentist's billboard advertisement. That other reserved half breath whooshed from me as painfully as if I'd been kicked, but it was a good pain. I was leaking tears, you were leaking tears, they were blowing their noses shamelessly, and Delia choked out that "Every single slide is clear. I checked them myself."

_Thank you, _was all I could think. _Just, thank you. _It didn't matter who or what I was thanking. _Thank you _is just a feeling that deserves to be put out there.

* * *

The relief of it all was exhausting, and I must have fallen asleep after Henry and Delia left. When I woke up, you were still holding me as you had when we were just sitting there silently, absorbing possibilities. You were holding some whispered conference with Angela, who was red-eyed and deliriously over the moon.

Replying to the yet-unasked question clear on her face, I cleared my throat and said "Yes, Ange. Lots and lots of glug-glug wahoo as soon as Delia lets me."

She burst out laughing and crying simultaneously. "Honey, we're going to bankrupt Cantilever with all the champagne I'm going to buy you."

* * *

I slept some more that afternoon, still nestled in your encircling arms, then woke only partway as I heard Parker and Angela come into the room.

"Daddy, you look really happy," I half-heard him say.

"I am, buddy. Bones is going to get better."

"Of course she is," he said confidently. "I told God she had to."

"I'm glad you did, Parker," you said, your voice serious. "Really glad, pal."

Me too.

* * *

I worked on my chicken and leeks in tarragon cream sauce while you did social studies with Parker, then Angela and I helped him plan out a science class diorama. Parker shared my serving of that white chocolate cherry pistachio pudding I concocted at Christmas, helping me fend you off when you finished off your serving in about two nanoseconds. Toward the end of the visit, I found myself growing repeatedly hoarse, and eventually gave up trying to talk around the toad in my throat. (Frog, Bones, not toad.) (Whatever. It's a disgusting analogy, regardless.)

I gave Parker and Angela their hugs goodnight, sitting back as you walked them off to the elevators, Parker on your shoulders. He's getting big for that. (Tell me about it. But as long as he wants me to, I'd rather let my back remind me later than sooner.)

"Tired, baby?" you said, sitting back down and stroking the side of my cheek.

"Mmm. Relieved," I replied. "Stupid ENT tube, though," I rasped, sipping some water and clearing my throat once again.

"Don't worry about it," you replied. "So... what's it going to be, Bones? Classic movies, Dancing with the Stars, or something poem-ish?"

"Poem-ish," I said.

"Okay," you said, then reached over into the bedside drawer to pull out the collection of American poets we'd been taking turns reading. You shifted the bed back a bit so I could lie up against you, one arm as always holding me to you, the other balancing the book in your hand.

"We left off with Roethke. You still want him?"

I nodded-- I hadn't read much of him, but he was one of your favorites, and I liked hearing the way you read him, not just the way your voice sounds anyway, though there's always that, too. You'd chosen _I knew a woman, _which you'd said was one of your favorites before we even met, but Seeley, the '_Turn, and Counter-Turn, and stand_' that he talks about? It's dancing-- leading and following, but it's still _together_. She is as defined by his regard for her as he defines himself by his regard of her-- it's a dance, not a question of only him following after.

_I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,  
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;  
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:  
The shapes a bright container can contain!  
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,  
Or English poets who grew upon Greek  
(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek)._

_How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,  
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and stand;  
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin:  
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;  
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,  
Coming behind her for her pretty sake  
(But what prodigious mowing did we make.)_

_Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:  
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;  
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;  
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;  
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,  
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose  
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved.)_

_Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:  
I'm martyr to a motion not my own;  
What's freedom for? To know eternity.  
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.  
But who would count eternity in days?  
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:  
(I measure time by how a body sways.)  
_  
I measure time by the throb of your heart under my ear, the rise and fall of your chest, the sound of your voice and feel of your arms surrounding me. That '_pure repose_' is with you.


End file.
